Atoning for Blood: A Skyrim Story
by wi11der
Summary: After several months striking terror into Skyrim, a member of a bloodthirsty vampire coven has a tattered fragment of her humanity returned to her. Having profaned everything she believed in, is there any hope for a chance at redemption?
1. Chapter 1: Awakening

_Note: My first stab at writing a skyrim fanfiction. Will feature both vanilla and interesting npcs. Vampire abilities and weaknesses have always varied quite a bit from game to game, in this case I try to draw from the lore as much as possible, with my own embellishments for story purposes based on alternative sources. Feedback is more than welcome, enjoy!_

 _ **Disclaimer: I do not own the Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, all credit to Bethesda Softworks or to the team of the excellent mod Interesting NPCs.**_

Atoning for Blood: A Skyrim Story.

Chapter 1: Awakening

Nothing was quite permanent. Images and locations flew by, strangely yet naturally cohabitating the incongruous world. She left her childhood bedchamber, with the creaking wooden floorboards and the muffled smattering of rain on the glass, only to emerge into the grand temple to Mara in Daggerfall she had known so long ago. The golden statue of the goddess wept scarlet rivers of blood, and familiar bodies lay about the empty pews, as if stray leaves forgotten by an uncaring breeze. Feeling suddenly nauseated, she turned, suddenly finding herself cold in an alley of grey stone, great buildings looming, casting sinister shadows. Two red mesmerising eyes in the darkness, and then a searing pain in her neck. A light in the darkness, a glowing figure. No, two. A dozen. A hundred. Screaming in torment and terror, a building, dissonant cacophony, crying out for one thing. **Blood**.

Aelfwynn awoke.

Taking a moment to push the lingering haze of sleep from the forefront of her mind, Aelfwynn stumbled from the coffin. The other vampires who nested within the cave glanced at her with sneering curiosity. The dead rarely move with the inelegance of the living. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Suddenly the memories came into sharp focus, every feeding, every murder. It felt as if the last several months were some terrible nightmare from which she had finally emerged, yet she was unaware of its horror while she dreamt it, as if it were one eternal night of drunken ecstasy broken by the clarity of dawn. Aelfwynn quickly stumbled to an adjoining passageway, quickly glancing to make sure she was truly alone, before moving deeper into the cave.

The cavern opened into a large chamber, enclosing an underground lake. Great stalagmites erupted from the water at irregular intervals, echoing the stalactites above them. Together they looked like the broken fangs of some petrified monster. Moss descended from the moist ceiling, ferrying small droplets of water ever downwards, creating tiny ripples all over the surface. The cave rang like a thousand tiny bells, melancholy in marking the passage of meaningless time. Aelfwynn knelt by the water's edge, suddenly feeling the urge to slap handful after handful of cold water on her face. As the waters calmed she cast her eyes down to the lake, feeling empty as she peered at the absence of any reflection.

* * *

Frieda didn't know what to make of Aelfwynn's odd behaviour this evening. Up until now the short stick of a Breton had been the closest thing to a friend she had in the coven. Well, the closest thing a vampire can have if they fancy a decent life expectancy in undeath. Most of the other vampires around killed for hunger, or just out of bloody sport. It was a short, messy business, quickly over and quickly forgotten. Wynn on the other hand, was an artist. She masterfully perverted her former occupation as a priestess, earning the trust of a family with honeyed words and hypnotic gaze, before proceeding to slaughter them in ways that made the blood run hot, even through a vampire's dead veins. When Wynn left a stain, not even the sea of ghosts could wash out the blood. The guards would fumble around hopelessly whilst neighbours would openly cry out, weeping in delicious terror. The scent of fear would echo for weeks. Wynn could cause a settlement to tear itself apart in fear in a matter of days, or, rather nights. Frieda shook her head as she let out a chuckle. Her sire was a twisted fiend indeed.

Frieda caught a glance of the unique mane of white hair as Aelfwynn strolled purposefully towards the mouth opening to the world above. She noticed Wynn had discarded the typical black, sensual armour the coven wore, instead donning her old priestly brown robes, her amulet of Mara hastily bound about her pale neck.

"Going out to play?"

Wynn seemed to freeze as Frieda finished the question.

"Something like that. I'll be gone a few nights" she answered quietly, without turning to face her. She lifted her knapsack over one shoulder as if to emphasise the point, before swiftly clambering through the entrance into the open world aboce.

"Bring me back something warm!" Frieda laughed, her lips instinctively curing up into a snarl of a grin, her tongue brushing her lips in anticipation of blood.

* * *

Dusk had a particular solemn beauty. The horizon was lined with shades of fading orange and pink light, reluctantly dissipating as they were swallowed inexorably by the purple approach of night. The moons, still faint in the dimming sky, looked on with unfathomable intent. Aelfwynn lifted the age-stained map from her knapsack, running her finger along its weathered surface until she reached Broken Fang Cave. She wanted to put as much distance between her and the coven as possible before dawn. Morthal was a bad idea. The stories go that the jarl has some form of clairvoyance, not to mention the fact that a relatively ancient vampire had recently lain claim to the territory. Whiterun seemed her best bet, just to lay low and gather what could pass for her thoughts as the realisations of just how far she had fallen continued to reach new depths. Aelfwynn took a deep breath, and slowly released. The dusk air had a certain scent to it, the heather, wild flowers, the unmistakeable aroma of… blood. Sharp in the air, unmistakeable. Instinctually, Aelfwynn's head jerked towards the source, a dull ache throbbing in the back of her throat. She spotted the silhouettes of a pack of fur clad soldiers, a bright streak of blue cutting across their ragged tunics leaping out from behind a nest of boulders by the side of the cobbled road, ambushing what appeared to be an Imperial patrol. The ring of steel on steel and cries of terrible agony ripped through the calm air. Aelfwynn's fangs involuntarily buried themselves into her lower lip as a growl clawed its way up her throat. The beast was awake.


	2. Chapter 2: Wilderness

Chapter 2: Wilderness

The battle was swift and brutal. Though the Stormcloaks had the element of surprise, the legion had discipline. As soon as the Stormcloaks descended upon them, they moved into a tight formation with their rectangular shields, deploying their spears menacingly. The Stormcloak berserkers charged fearlessly, but most ended up skewered, their axes and swords dropping from their hands as mortality began to take them. Those few that managed to flank the legions shield wall managed to strike a few savage blows before the front rank, having eliminated the first charge, turned to face them. The patrol gathered up their wounded, placing them on makeshift stretchers, leaving behind the shattered forms of the dead and the dying.

The scene that played out before her was familiar to Aelfwynn. As individuals the Stormcloaks were as fearless as the bear they took as their sigil, and their courage and heroism could turn the tide of many a battle, but she had to come to learn that an army had to be more than that. The consequence of every Nord warrior believing in his own invincible destiny led many a man or woman to their grave, and changing the result from a battle into merely a contested mass execution. As the legion soldiers faded into the growing dark, Aelfwynn approached the aftermath. One pair of legs still squirmed amongst the stillness, as a single survivor tried to shift the armoured form of his comrade from crushing his chest. The Spear had gone through both of them, before the Imperial had reclaimed it.

There was no conscious thought to it. The music of the blood was deafening, blocking out any other thought. Aelfwynn approached, threw the corpse of the dead soldier aside as one might remove the shawl covering a body, and bared her fangs. The eyes of the man went wide, he tried to scream but it died on his pale lips, only a whimper emerged. As she bent down to the leaking wound at his shoulder, the fallen soldier began to sob in convulsions. "Mara save me!" he cried, in a voice that spoke only of pain. Aelfwynn froze. The urge to drain him was overwhelming but somehow, she threw herself back from his broken form. Gods he was so young, seventeen years at most. She clasped her bare hand around her amulet, trying to draw any strength she could muster. Instead her hand began to smoke as her skin began to smoulder. Strangely though, the pain gave her a focus, a sensation that could drown out the hunger. The music was fading. Tears of agony streaking down her dead cheeks, Aelfwynn reached out her scorched hand to the flaxen haired boy, placing it over his wound. Golden light began to pour out of her fingertips, the light briefly restoring colour to the grey darkness. His breathing became less laboured, but his eyes were filled with incomprehension. "What.. what are.." Aelfwynn cut him off. "It doesn't matter. You carried shelter with you?". The boy nodded as she delved into his pack, and proceeded to assemble the fur lined tent in a sheltered position behind the boulders. After she got a fire going, Aelfwynn gently helped him rise, his arm about her slender shoulders. He was nearly a foot taller than the slight-seeming Breton, but to a vampire such things were highly deceptive. "As soon as the sun lights the way, head north. You'll be in Rorikstead before long."

"You're leaving?" he coughed, fear still carved into his expression, though whether it stemmed from her or the encroaching night Aelfwynn could not be sure. "It's better for both of us, trust me." Aelfwynn said, her voice thick with repressed feeling. She stepped away from the flickering fire into the encompassing dark.

On a nearby outcropping, a solitary figure loomed. The shadows melded around her form, rendering her indistinguishable from the blackness of the night. Frieda was right to trust her instincts. The Wynn she knew would have revelled in the artistry of the slaughter, drawn out the fear of any survivors and delighted in the craft of the kill. The pathetic display she had just seen had robbed her of any appetite. It had gone too far, a vampire with a moral conscience was a threat to all of their security. Morcar had to be informed.

The rest of the journey into the vale of Whiterun was uneventful. On one occasion a pack of black wolves eyed her from a nearby hillock, warily ensuring a rival predator would pass through their territory without laying claim. As Aelfwynn approached, two braziers of rusting iron marked Whiterun's outer walls. Whilst still clearly sturdy, the walls seemed to be suffering from a slow decay. Gold-clad guards with closed-faced helms gravely looked on, impatiently pacing the battlements as if in unending anticipation.

Aelfwynn had a brief word with the gate-guard. Initially he seemed wary, placing his hand on his plain scabbard, but once she stepped into the light and her humble attire and amulet became clear she was let inside without any further difficulty. It had been at least a year since she had last seen Whiterun. Aelfwynn seemed to recall how the gurgling stream would glisten in the light of the midday sun, and how the streets would be filled with the bustle of everyday life. In twilight however, the air was filled with a wordless silence. Driving herself onwards, she approached the sounds of life beginning to emanate from the homely walls of the Bannered Mare.


	3. Chapter 3: Insecurity

Chapter 3: Insecurity

The rush of warm tavern air struck Aelfwynn like a wind fresh off the Alik'r desert. A crowd of patrons still gathered around the central hearth, some seated on central benches, others back at huddled tables in the shadow of the floor above. The gentle plucking of a lute by a rather smug looking bard and the gentle crackle of the cooking fire set the mood.

The Bannered Mare was a testament to what Aelfwynn came to realise was an absolute truth in Skyrim. When it came to Inns, time had no meaning. You could walk into any specimen from the most outlying village to the most populous city, and no matter what time of day or night and at least a few occupants would be warming the barstools. Aelfwynn crossed to the bar, taking a seat next to a silent old man nursing a drink. His face was lined with what seemed like a lifetime of troubles, and he did not turn to face the newcomer. He wore his grey beard in a knot, whilst his mournful visage was complimented by the weathered black robe that clung loosely to his body. Aelfwynn's attention was swiftly diverted by the clink of a tankard being roughly placed on the bar.

"Hungry, tired, or just plain thirsty?" asked Hulda, her voice filled with the absolute sureness of a ruler in the heart of her domain. "Actually, from the look of you I'd say all of the above". She smiled then, and cocked her head slightly to one side. Without allowing a moment for reply she continued, "Say, your face is familiar. Though last time you looked less like death warmed up". Aelfwynn couldn't help but smile at the innkeeper's bluntness.

"A room if you've got one Hulda, but no drink, thanks." After a quick exchange of gold, Hulda crossed the room to the back of the inn, leaving Aelfwynn to her own devices. Soon enough, she began to hear snatches of conversation drifting across the inn.

"So I'm, uh... writing a song for you..." A blonde, iron-clad Nord said to the tall grey-haired young woman sweeping the floor. She paused for a moment, leaning on the handle.  
"Why, Jon Battle-Born, you're writing me a song? Does it somehow involve blood, or beheadings, or the honour of my forebears?"  
"Well, that's where I started. But it turned into something of a ballad."  
"A ballad? Oh, now I know you're joking with me."  
"It's all true, I swear it. You can hear it when it's done. I'll just need a year or two to smooth the rough edges." She shook her head at that.

"Ha! I thought as much."

Suddenly, a hoarse voice crackled into life beside her. "To the gods, we are as near-sighted beasts." She turned to see the strange, almost cadaverous man looking straight at her, his hawkish nose and eyes fixed. "But I think you knew that already." Without another word, he got up from the stool, walked towards the doors and left without so much as a glance behind him. Caught off-balance by the old man's remark, Aelfwynn rose from the stool, intending to put the lid on this first night of cruel clarity.

Unfortunately, she was interrupted by the crash of metal on compressing wood. An enormous Nord woman, built like a gnarled tree and clad neck to toe in ornate steel plates, had shoved Jon Battle-Born against one of the supporting pillars, who proceeded to collapse onto the floor as the wind rushed out of him. "So, think you could go blade to blade with me? You'd be dead in seconds" spat the woman, raising her arm threateningly to the sword strapped to her back. The inn was in shock. Even Hulda was speechless, frozen in the doorway to the adjoining room.

"Uthgerd, I-I don't know how I upset you, I never meant to question your skill" Jon uttered, raising his hands in surrender. Uthgerd wasn't listening to reason however. Her movements swayed with the influence of drink, her mind clearly swimming with perceived insults and insecurities known only to her. Aelfwynn had to act. Channelling what blood still coursed through her, she sped in front of the bleary eyed Uthgerd, positioning herself between the two Nords. "Uthgerd, you'll kill him, stop this.". A mailed fist struck Aelfwynn's cheek in answer, knocking her against the bar. "I don't need a sword to knock your hide to the ground Breton". Aelfwynn's eyes caught flame. Launching herself at the giant, the situation quickly escalated. Uthgerd was strong, but Wynn was frenzied. After a savage exchange of blows, Wynn ripped Uthgerd's gauntlet clean off her arm and smacked her across the temple, resulting in a crash not unlike an oak hitting the forest floor. Seeing red and shaking with the terrible thrill, Aelfwynn shook her head, clearing her mind and dropping the steel gauntlet with a final clang. A pin could have dropped as the patrons and staff looked on in disbelief.

"Well sister" Jon wheezed, his right arm clutching to his ribs "at which temple did they teach you that?" he let out a chuckle, and the tension in the room diffused. As Hulda continued attending her patrons, and whisps of conversation once again began to drift across the inn, Aelfwynn crouched to tend to Jon. "Don't try to get up just yet. You hit the wall pretty hard."

"What about her?" Jon asked, he motioned to Uthgerd.

"Oh, she'll be alright, I err, hit her rather carefully. She'll have a nasty headache tomorrow though." Jon's left eyebrow shot up, and started to chuckle. "I think she had that coming anyway…"

Aelfwynn gently probed his ribs, Jon wincing as she did so. "Nothing's broken" Aelfwynn diagnosed, "You'll have a nasty bruise for the better part of a week, but after that you'll be fine."

"Couldn't you just…" he waggled his fingers suggestively.

"Sometimes it's best to let these things heal on their own. One of the first things they teach us actually". He smiled at that.

"Is there a good reason, or is it just to punish men for getting drunk and tearing pieces out of each other?" Aelfwynn suppressed the urge to laugh.

"It's to do with our bodies, they're made for repairing themselves. Use magic all the time, and it might just get used to not having to try. Then one day when you pick a fight with the nearest bruiser" she cast her eyes meaningfully at Uthgerd's twitching form "you'll be in trouble". His eyes softened for a moment

"Not if…" then suddenly he saw something behind Aelfwynn and started to rise. "Don't worry about it sister, I'm fine now. Thanks for the help" Aelfwynn rose and began to walk up the ladder-stairway to her rented room. Feeling a set of eyes on her back, she quickly turned, just to see the grey-haired girl watching her, quickly returning to her sweeping after their eyes locked.


	4. Chapter 4: Purpose

Chapter 4: Purpose

 _The surface of the river bubbled far above her. The thick red liquid flowed sluggishly, clinging to her skin as it moved downstream. Panicked by a mortal's fear of drowning, Aelfwynn thrashed on the silty bed, only to hear the rattles of the chains which now audibly clanked, burning against her skin. Though surrounded by warm blood, Aelfwynn found she could not drink. There were shadows, rippling above the surface, watching her. Trying to scream Aelfwynn realised she had been muzzled. She fell silent, only to hear the distorted echoes of mocking laughter._

A sudden rapping at the door allowed Aelfwynn to break the surface.

"I wanted to check you hadn't died in your sleep" Hulda said as she swept into the room. "I was fairly confident you hadn't. The dead tend to sleep more peacefully" she added, sternly placing her hands on her hips.

Aelfwynn cast her eyes downwards. "Bad dreams. Seem to be plaguing me lately."

"Hmph. Don't bother me none too much. Most of the usual suspects are out earning their drinking money. Best get up though, you've got a visitor."

Aelfwynn sat up fully. "Who?" But Hulda had already gone. She crossed to one of the windows formed amongst the rafters, being careful to avoid the gaze of the gentle light which probed into the room. The sky appeared grey, overcast, and going by Hulda's quips it was likely already late into the day. If she wrapped up, she should be able to endure the obscured sun for a short period.

Descending the stairs, a familiar face sat at the bar, facing her.

"Jon Battle-Born?"

He grinned, seemingly pleased she remembered his name. " I, uhh, wanted to apologise for last night. For rushing off I mean. Occurred to me I didn't even think to ask your name"

Aelfwynn approached the bar, taking a seat across from Jon. "It's these robes" she said, pinching the brown cloth. "they make you sort of anonymous. Over time they become part of you. I think that's rather the idea. What we do is supposed to matter more than who we are."

"You believe that?"

Aelfwynn furrowed her brow her thought, "sometimes it's easier when we aren't sure"

"Sure of what?"

"Who we are."  
"Well, a name would be a start" Jon said, raising his lips into a half-smile.

She returned it. "Aelfwynn"

"Well sister - Aelfwynn, what brings you to Whiterun?"

"At first I wasn't sure. I… lost myself for a while. Now I'm trying to make up for it. I'm here to help I suppose, in any way I can."

"Truly? By Shor, this city could use more like you. Where do you plan to start?"

Aelfwynn smiled. "Well, we can start with you Jon Battle-Born. Something tells me you didn't just come here to learn my name."

Jon began to talk then, falteringly at first but then gradually more and more eloquently. He told her of the split that had emerged between Clan Battle-Born and Grey-Mane, the oldest and most respected families in Whiterun, as the former stolidly upheld Imperial culture, whereas the other preferred the call of Nord independence and sovereignty. Then he began to speak of Olfina, and his eyes grew distant. He spoke of their time together as if discovering it for the first time, his voice sometimes quickly rising in exultation, only to fall to an awed whisper a moment later.  
"I just don't know what to do, every decision seems wrong somehow."

Aelfwynn pondered his dilemma for a moment.

"Jon, your problem is like this. You keep putting off bringing about any change, like you put off showing Olfina the song you wrote. You're trying to post-pone the hard choices, whilst you hope things will stay the same. But they won't. There are moments where everything you know can just be ripped away, and suddenly there's only the regret, the guilt. It may seem like any decision you make is wrong, but I guarantee you that making no decision at all will be worse."

His eyes widened at that, taking a moment to soak in the Priestess' words. Aelfwynn shocked herself. Slightly ashamed, she realised she had not been only thinking of Jon when she spoke the impassioned words, but of herself. Realising her eyes were beginning to catch on his exposed neck, the thump of his heartbeat beginning to ring in her ears, Aelfwynn rose.

She smiled at Jon. "Look, I have to go, but, we can talk more later?". He just looked at her, nodding slowly.

The grey clouds stirred themselves around a congested sky. Wrapped in her robe, a matching hood and thick gloves, Aelfwynn walked into the marketplace. The stalls were arranged in a semi-circle around the square, at one a mother was on one knee speaking to her daughter, from an other an elderly woman called out to passers buy to buy the trinkets forged by her husband. Only one thing caught Aelfwynn's attention though. At the stall beside the old woman, a scrawny-looking Wood Elf stood, skinning a deer beside several cuts of raw meat. The smell of blood was intoxicating. As she approached, the Wood Elf looked up from his task. "You should try the venison. It's delicious."

"How much for the whole deer?" Aelfwynn said, a bit more forcefully than perhaps she should. The Elf blinked, clearly taken aback.

"You hosting some sort of get together?"

"Yep. That's it exactly"

"Hmm. I'm sure we can cut a deal. 20 gold?"

"Done." He blinked again.

"Don't you want to haggle?" the disappointment was plainly written across his face.

"No."

"You're sure?"

"Completely."

He grumbled as he accepted her money, his clearly fouling mood hanging as thickly as the clouds above him, as Aelfwynn walked away with her dripping prize. Carefully ensuring she was not observed, she faded into the shadows of the buildings around her, leaving the bustle of the main street. Her fangs tore into the lukewarm meat with a destructive desperation. The taste was foul, but it was still blood. Blood which calmed the tension in her bones, soothed the ache in her muscles and dampened the music for a while longer. Quietened, but never quite silenced. Aelfwynn sighed as the ringing of the heartbeats all around her died down into blissful quiet.

Wynn had been forced to get by on animal blood before, but it was subsistence, nothing more. Animal blood was the equivalent of a human eating watered gruel, it filled a hole, kept you alive for another day, but it hardly satisfied the palette. Often it actually made the craving for true sustenance worse, but a blood-starved vampire was a danger to herself and everyone around her.

Then it struck her. Where on nirn was she going to hide the deer?


	5. Chapter 5: Nettlebane

Chapter 5: Nettlebane

Aelfwynn was amazed she could be so thoughtless. Whatever she did with this thing it was bound to raise questions, and any detailed examination of the skinned deer would turn questions into suspicions. Huddled in the shadow of the Bannered Mare, Aelfwynn considered the options. After a few seconds, the sound of conversations in the square began to drift through to her heightened senses. She picked out a particular voice, the wood elf who had sold her the deer.

"I don't suppose you're going to buy something this time?" The elf said, his mood apparently not having improved from earlier.

"Just browsin' today. If the gods be kind, someone will take mercy on me and spare a few septims." A coarser voice replied, his words filled with a wheedling quality.  
"If they do, promise you'll actually purchase something for once."  
"By Ysmir, I will. Gods know it's been too long since I tasted real meat."

Aha! Aelfwynn thought. A beggar was rather unlikely to look a gift horse in the mouth. Stealthily she peered around the corner of the building. The beggar, dressed in white rags, a feeble cap and crude footwraps was stumbling down the slope of the plains district, away from the bustle of the marketplace. Nonchalantly strolling down the side-road, Aelfwynn walked into the Beggar's line of sight as he turned off the main street.

"Hey lady!" The beggar called. Aelfwynn made a show of dramatically turning to face him, feigned surprise written into her expression.

"Spare a coin for a man whose down on his luck?"

Holding the deer by the neck in one hand, Aelfwynn patted down the sides of her robes and frowned. "I seem to be low on coin… But here, take this, I insist." The beggar looked fairly gobsmacked, his mouth moved to form the words, but nothing came out.

"You're welcome." Aelfwynn answered the Redguard's silent gratitude.

Thoroughly pleased with herself, Aelfwynn walked away towards the market, making sure her hood was properly positioned as she did so. However, she could not repress a creeping guilt. _Had she deceived the man?_ She had in fact several coins on her, yet had given the beggar food not out of the charity expected of all servants of the faith, but out of her own need. Yet, she had also given him quite a few days of nourishment, and if the smell of his breath was any indication, that was not what he would have purchased with her coin. She mulled this over as she walked through the market, climbing the stairs to the district above.

The great tree outside the temple to Kynareth was not as Aelfwynn recalled. On her last visit the plant had radiated life, with vibrant pink leaves contrasting beautifully against its pale white trunk. No longer. The tree was now bare, and rather than its normal welcoming beauty, it seemed almost skeletal, like the hand of some forgotten creature trying to emerge from the depths of Nirn.

"It's a shame, isn't it?"A tired but familiar voice asked.  
"Mara's mercy Danica, what happened to the tree?"

"Lightning took it a while back… wait a moment, Aelfwynn? Is that you hiding under that hood?"  
Aelfwynn nodded.

"Kynareth's grace girl, I thought I asked you to send a note or something?"

Aelfwynn thought back to the time she'd stayed in Whiterun all that time ago. Their joint dedication to healing the wounded who poured in during the earlier days of the war had meant that Danica and Aelfwynn had grown closer than most during her short stay. Danica had frequently and loudly criticised Aelfwynn's decision to head into Eastmarch, where the fighting had been the fiercest of anywhere in Skyrim.

She took a seat beside her old friend. "It's kind of hard to explain. Things… got away from me. But I'm back now." She smiled. "So" she said, gesturing towards the tree behind them, "how can I help?" Danica smiled, and turned her head to face the trunk.

"Well, I've been thinking... Trees like this never really die. They only slumber. I think if we had some of the sap from the parent tree, we could wake up its child. But even if you could get to the Eldergleam, you couldn't tap it. Not with any normal metal. Eldergleam is older than metal, from a time before men or elves. To even affect it, you have to tap into the old magic." She paused for a moment.

"I'm afraid you'd have to deal with the Hagravens. I've heard about a weapon they've made for sacrificing Spriggans. It's called "Nettlebane." The hags terrify me, or I would have gone after it myself."

"What's a hagraven?"

"A terrible beast, a mixture of woman and bird. They're pretty handy with magic, so keep your wits about you."

"I'll be careful. I won't go alone." Aelfwynn promised.

"Your spirit is strong, though I always thought so. Kynareth's winds guide your path. It's held in a Hagraven nest called Orphan Rock."

"Thank you, Danica. Blessings of Mara upon you." Aelfwynn felt a small rush, it was the first time she'd spoken the words in such a long time. It felt… right. There was comfort in the words. Danica, as if sensing her feelings, placed her hand on Aelfwynn's.

"I'll see you when you get back. Don't go disappearing on me this time, there's work needs doing."

As she headed back towards the Bannered Mare, Aelfwynn suddenly felt a rush of exhilaration. She was back on the path, she could do this. Of course, preparations needed to be made.

Uthgerd the Unbroken sat at her usual spot in the Bannered Mare, nursing the first of the evening's drinks. Her memories of the night before were hazy, but she remembered one thing – one heck of a fight. She made a note to thank the plucky little Breton if she saw her. A short while and another drink later, a hooded figure in a brown robe entered the tavern and crossed to the bar. She wore a shining amulet that nagged at Uthgerd's mind for some reason. It seemed familiar. After exchanging a few words with Hulda, the stranger lowered her hood. _It was her!_ The flash of white hair was unmistakeable. Probably.

"Hey Breton, get over here!" Uthgerd guffawed. The Breton turned, shocked by the sudden address. Her eyes widened for a moment, and her hands began to rise. "Look Uthgerd, I'm sorry about last night…"

"What are you sorry about? Just what I needed if you asked me. That's what I call a punch. Best fight I've had in years"

"Well, in that case, happy to oblige" The Breton said, her grin causing her soft, oddly pink eyes to crinkle at the corners.

"Thinking about it though, is it a sin to hit a priestess? Should I be paying some penance?" Uthgerd said, nervously laughing.

The Breton rubbed her temple for a moment. "Mara forgives probably more than you know. She loves us all." Her face clouded for a moment, then seemed to shake the mood clear.

"Actually Uthgerd, I've got a proposition for you."

Aelfwynn thought Uthgerd was remarkably sanguine about the prospect of facing immediate mortal danger so soon after the previous evening. From their short acquaintance, she got the impression that Uthgerd lived for battle. This woman had a chip on her shoulder, whatever it may be, and seemed to look for any opportunity to prove herself in combat. In this case it worked to Aelfwynn's advantage, as her headstrong friend did not think to question their decision to leave immediately, even as the sun had already dipped below the horizon.


	6. Chapter 6: Together

Chapter 6: Together

Jon Battle-Born paced impatiently outside his family home. It was stupid, it was only a song! Yet deep down he knew it wasn't. Somehow, he knew that if he went to Olfina and opened his heart so fully, the door could never be closed again. He would alienate his family, heck, he might even cause their rivalry to come to open brawling in the streets. He pushed the rather comical image of Olfrid Battle-Born and Vignar Grey-Mane wrestling under the Gildergreen from his mind. And the conflict would be because of him. But could he live with the consequences of doing nothing. The priestess Aelfwynn's words came back to him again. _It may seem like any decision you make is wrong, but I guarantee you that making no decision at all will be worse._ Her words had moved him. He had been the victim of many a stray sermon in his time, but she was different. It was as if she had looked right inside him with her rose eyes, seen the crushing weight on his Nord spirit. He felt an odd compulsion to see her again. But no, tonight Olfina had to be his priority.

Jon strode out past the temple, taking a moment to look at night sky. The clouds were beginning to open, and the stars were resuming their aethereal vigil over Skyrim. As he walked into the Bannered Mare, he saw many of the usual suspects. Sinmir sat mournfully over his tankard, grumbling about the days of his youth and the state of the Whiterun guard to any who would listen. That fool Mikhail was making eyes at Ysolda as he butchered his way through Ragnar the Red, and Hulda stood domineeringly over the bar. Her body language clearly expressed to all in the room that she would by no means have a repeat of last night's performance. He inquired briefly with the innkeeper to see if Olfina had begun her shift. After she gestured towards the backroom, Jon turned to see his would-be lover preparing food in the back room.

"Well Hulda, I'll tell you one thing, I'm glad Uthgerd hasn't graced us with her presence this evening" He poked his ribs as if to emphasise the point, wincing slightly as he did so.

"Oh she was here. Left a little while ago. Took that stick of a priestess, couple torches and stormed on out of here."

 _Aelfwynn?_ Jon thought to himself. _With Uthgerd?_

"What on earth were those two doing together? Was Uthgerd after vengeance?" He felt the rhythm of his heart begin to quicken with alarm.

"Nah." The innkeeper replied, surprisingly ambivalent to Jon's apparent alarm. "Just headed out on some errand way I heard it. Something about a knife at an orphan's rock."

 _Orphan's Rock? By Shor, it was well known that dark witches practice foul and evil magicks there, and rumours even said that they sent foul creatures into the night, kidnapping innocents for their monstrous rituals. What was Aelfwynn thinking?_ Jon's thoughts took on a turbulent tone as he thought it over. _No_. He thought. _Tonight is about Olfina, about making things right between us, making a decision._

Jon made his decision.

It had not taken long for Olfina to notice him sitting at the bar as she stirred the first round of evening stew. Jon had surreptitiously left a note for her earlier in the day in their accustomed place, informing her that he wanted to see her tonight, _to take the next step_ as he put it. Olfina wondered just what it was he had meant? Whilst normally she considered herself the model of self-reliance and composure, the anticipation had left butterflies in her stomach. The rushing sound of air broke into the tavern in the background as another patron left or entered, and as Olfina turned once more towards the bar she immediately stopped. Jon had vanished.

Uthgerd didn't really seem one for small talk. She was more than happy to regale Aelfwynn with the odd tale of what she saw as rather excessive violence, but little beyond that. It was as they passed the Whiterun stables that Aelfwynn began to hear the clanking of armour rushing from behind them.

"Hey you, wait up!" A familiar figure puffed into the torchlight, placing his arms on his knees as he caught his breath.

"What… are… you doing?" Jon panted, raising himself to full height one more.

"Off to retrieve a magical dagger for Danica Pure-Spring. What are you doing Jon?" Aelfwynn scowled "You're only going to aggravate your chest running around in full armour like that."

"Oh, and charging into a nest of witches in the dead of night is perfectly sensible, I suppose?"

"Witches don't really nest Jon, they… nevermind. Anyway, charging in during daylight would be worse – this way we have a chance of approaching the camp unseen. And I'm hardly going alone here". She gestured to Uthgerd.

Uthgerd nodded at Jon. "Battle-Born."

He stiffly returned it. "Uthgerd."

"How're the ribs"

"They hurt."

"I bet."

Suddenly they both spontaneously began to chortle, punching each other on the arm in a friendly manner. Aelfwynn rolled her eyes. "Nords!" she scoffed aloud.

"Anyway…" Jon cleared his throat. "I better go with you. If nothing else, think of it: The selfless priestess and the murderous witches, locked in combat to retrieve a holy artefact… There's a song in it by Talos, and I'll be the one to recite it!".

 _He's a bard alright_ Aelfwynn thought, _such grandiose exaggeration could hardly be found anywhere else…._

After Jon's apparent surprise that a priestess with little in the way of possessions did not in fact own her own horse, the party began to make their way south on foot. Past the outlying buildings the road began to twist and turn up a hill, running parallel with the river which flowed down into the valley and on towards Eastmarch. After the initial disappointment that came with the realisation of extended exercise wore off, Jon began to converse with Aelfwynn.

"So, sister Aelfwynn, what first brought you to our fair homeland?"

Aelfwynn's expression took on a look of slight guilt. "It's a long story…" she evaded.

"It's a long walk." Jon said with a faux bitterness, allowing her a moment of discomfort before releasing her with a comforting wink.

"Well, I suppose in that case I have a bit of a confession to make".

He chucked at that. "Isn't this supposed to happen the other way around sister?"

She smiled coyly at him. "Nobody's perfect"

"Well, some are closer than others." His face took on a shade of embarrassment, before signalling her to continue.

"You have to understand, a lot of the work we did as priestesses of Mara was… less than thrilling. An awful lot of it was sitting in seclusion, reading through texts on the nature of the divine and contemplating the meaning and nature of love. The monotony was only broken by the occasional love-sick young man prostrating himself in the main chapel and begging for assistance with his melodramatic attempts to woo the local noble's daughter. Don't get me wrong, to serve the goddess was what I knew I had to do, but I guess it wasn't quite how I imagined it."

"How did you imagine it?" Jon replied curiously.

"I wanted to spread Mara's message, I wanted to travel and help where I could. We had spent years learning the art of restoration, but although the occasional sick man or woman would come to us, we were hardly in demand. It felt like expecting any and all or needed help could come to us wasn't enough."

"Did you tell your.. uhh, head priest or something?"

"Matriarch Voadette?" Aelfwynn laughed sadly. "She would have seen it as laziness and" she put on a haughty voice "the highest dereliction of our sworn duty".

Jon grinned at that. "So, I'm assuming the next part of the story is your daring escape across the rooftops of… Where did you say you were from?"

"Daggerfall."

"Across the rooftops of Daggerfall, filled with the spirit of adventure…"

"Umm. Hardly." Aelfwynn said sheepishly.

Jon raised an eyebrow.

"I realised that a lot of Matriarch Voadette's study was focused on dreams, their meaning. She was convinced they were visions from the Gods, but that our minds were simply not advanced enough to comprehend their meaning without focused study and meditation."

"Huh. Never thought of it like that. Actually…"

Aelfwynn gave him a seething look.

"Sounds like utter nonsense, absolutely." Jon replied as he wiped his brow with a mailed fist. "So, what happened?"

"I went to her one morning and announced Mara had sent me a vision. I had seen the weeping statue of the goddess on a snow-coated road, with wounded Nords and Imperials crying out for mercy. She took me at my word and I left." Aelfwynn concluded, her face expressionless. "I lied to her."

"Aelfwynn!" Jon barked in a breath filled voice. He paused for a moment. "I think I have to turn back… I had no idea of the stains on your soul!"

"Are you mocking me Jon Battle-Born?"

"Sister! The very idea. I'm merely concerned for our spiritual well-being."

Aelfwynn raised an eyebrow with a profound scepticism. Jon took one look at her and burst into a fit of laughter. The icy expression she gave him seemed only to provide encouragement.

After a couple of hours, they passed through the sleepy town of Riverwood, and began the ascent towards their objective. Along the left side of the mossy cobbles which marked the road, pine trees began to appear, at first sparsely, but over time forming dense thickets against the base of the enormous mountain towering above. On the other side lay a military outpost, marked by the shadow of ominous walls in the moonlight.

Extinguishing her torch, Aelfwynn motioned for her companions to follow her into the undergrowth, gradually approaching the outcropping which marked Orphan's rock. The night came alive as her night vision gained focus in the dark. Two peaks of rock jutted out of the earth before them, linked by what seemed to a fallen tree. A sharp incline marked the only viable method of approach, faintly lit by a hidden source atop the peak.

"We need a plan of attack." Uthgerd growled, her body almost radiating violent energy.

"If I approach first, I should be able to absorb any oncoming spells." Aelfwynn explained. "If you two stay behind me until they take a shot, then charge in?"

"Promising." Jon said, his voice wound tight.

"Lets go then. I've been itching for a fight." Uthgerd replied.

They managed to catch the hags off-guard. Uthgerd made quick work of the first, who appeared to be standing sentry at the top of the approach, slashing her nearly in two with her greatsword. The Scent of blood seemed to heat the very air. Refocusing her mind, Aelfwynn rushed forward to put up a glowing ward spell, which absorbed the malicious swirls of red magic which uncoiled from two of the witches' arms like leaping serpents. A third witch had summoned a familiar, taking the form of a savage wolf which leapt at Aelfwynn, only to be intercepted by Jon's iron blade, howling as it crumbled into nothing. The witch quickly whisked a dagger from her filthy black robe, hurling it at Jon. It grazed his arm as he attempted to deflect it with his armour.

Aelfwynn heard a terrible noise, an inhuman squawk filled with loathing rage. The hagraven, stooped and stumbling, lifted her terrible claws. Moving in and out of the shadows of the central campfire, the beast looked all the more horrific. The air seemed to vibrate, quickening as an enormous orb of fire shot out towards the invaders. Aelfwynn quickly re-established her ward, only for it to shatter like thin glass as the force of the blast sent her flying into a pillar of stone. She cried out in searing pain as her hands began to blacken and crack. Jon and Uthgerd looked at each other. Suddenly Jon called out in a mocking voice, trying to attract the beast's attention.

"Hey! Over here you filthy vulture!" He picked up a stone, throwing it in the monster's face, causing it to scream in rage. Uthgerd took this opportunity to sneak across the trunk to where the Hagraven stood, distracted by her companion's display. Just as it let off another blast of fire, Uthgerd drove her sword through the creature's neck, the stump gurgling horrible as the creature collapsed to the earth.

Jon had only partially avoided the final ball of magic, though he had thrown himself to the side, his right arm had been badly burned. Involuntarily his body began to convulse in burning agony. Aelfwynn saw him fall, and mustering every inkling of strength she had, she crawled past the bodies of fallen hags to reach her newest friend. Not even sure if he was aware of her through the pain, Aelfwynn placed her hands together, interlocking her blackend fingers as she held them over his terrible wound. The familiar draining flow of magicka left her body as the golden light washed over him. As his skin returned to a normal hue, and his desparate breathing slowed, Aelfwynn's sight began to darken, and she slipped out of the conscious world.


	7. Chapter 7: Weakness

Chapter 7: Weakness

Aelfwynn was awoken by a sensation of being rocked. Her eyes opened to see the worried faces of her companions looking down at her. "You're awake!" Jon cried, shaking her by the shoulders. Then, as if realising he was roughly handling a delicate antique, he drew his hands back and apologised. "What happened to you?" Uthgerd asked. "Didn't seem to me you were the kind of woman who would faint at the sight of a nasty wound."

"It wasn't that." Aelfwynn replied. "I just… Jon's wound, it required a lot of magical energy to heal. I'd already been draining myself raising wards, and I just pushed too far. That's how magicka works I think, once you deplete the link between you and the source it…" She spread her hands.

"It takes yours" Jon finished.

"Exactly."

"Where are we?" Aelfwyn asked.

"We carried you to the road after you collapsed. After a few minutes we saw a cart heading down the road, somehow Uthgerd managed to convince him to divert to Whiterun. I Don't know what you told him Uthgerd, he's been pushing the horses like his life depended on it."

"That's exactly what I told him." Uthgerd replied curtly.

Jon took one of Aelfwynn's injured hands and inspected it. "You got enough of that magic to heal this up?"

Aelfwynn bit her lip, another lie coming on. Since she was cursed with vampirism, the healing magic was repelled by her undead form, refusing to sustain her unnatural existence. "Not yet Jon, I'll go and see Danica when…" She looked at Uthgerd sharply. "Did you find the knife?"

"This old thing? Yeah. Hope it was worth it. Fight certainly was." Uthgerd tossed Nettlebane down beside her. She seemed completely unmoved by the injuries of her companions Aelfwynn thought, as if such things were run of the mill. By the position of the moon, it seemed to be still a couple hours before dawn, as the cart steadily made its way down the hill towards the city they had left several hours before.

The three decided to part ways once they entered the city gates. With the fighting done Uthgerd's interest in the matter was over, and Jon made his excuses shortly afterwards. "I left the city without any warning. One or two things I've got to set right. I'll see you around the place I'm sure." He smiled. "Maybe next time we can go adventuring in warm sunshine for a change eh?" Aelfwynn forced a smile to mirror his own as he walked away, briefly turning to face her once more before disappearing into the labyrinth of rising streets. Making sure Nettlebane was in her possession, Aelfwynn strolled purposefully towards the temple. Knowing Danica, she would have stayed inside all night worrying and praying.

As the wooden doors of the temple of Kynareth creaked shut behind her, Aelfwynn immediately knew something was wrong. In the past the temple had always had a shining beauty, the light would enter through the windows and reflect off the beautiful mural in the centre of the temple as if channelling the divine itself. The whole place would radiate life. Not tonight. The candles were all extinguished, yet the smoke produced from their burning still hung sinisterly in the gathered gloom below the rafters. Besides the occasional sound of the building settling, the temple resonated with a deafening silence. The wounded, lying on the tables provided, had seemingly been left entirely unattended. Feeling compelled to check their condition, she approached one of the men. She recoiled in horror as she gently turned him toward her. His neck had been snapped, and going from the bruising of the skin and the angle of his head, by something with superhuman strength.

Swept up in a fit of panic, Aelfwynn swirled towards the entrance, only to trip over the hem of her robe, collapsing onto the temple floor. A pair of black boots sat in front of her, as well as a palpable sense of dread.

"Oh, don't worry, I've made sure we won't be disturbed." The figure said, his voice unnaturally calm, civilised even. "I thought it was time for a little family chat." With that, he hurled Aelfwynn across the chamber, knocking the Kynareth shrine clear off the altar to collapse in a heap behind it.

 _Morcar,_ Aelfwynn thought. The landing seemed oddly soft. Aelfwynn pushed herself up from the floor in confusion, only to see the body of one of the priests, eyes wide, his face locked in an expression of pure terror. His neck had been savaged, blood dried across his torn robe, the tell-tale shadow of a vampire's kiss clear at the centre.

"How could you…" Aelfwynn tried to say, the lack of air failing her before she could finish.

"A lesson. An important lesson you seem to have forgotten." In a moment he stood above her once more, grabbing and pulling her to her feet. His raven-black hair hung elegantly off his flawless visage, contrasting against the red tunic of his vampire armour. Despite his beauty, his face spoke of an unspeakable cruelty. "I freed you, freed you from all this" He gestured around the ravaged temple with one arm. "And this is how you repay me? How you suddenly choose to use the life I gave you?" He tore the amulet of Mara from her throat, smouldering in his smoking hand for a moment before he threw it into a corner with disgust. "Well, don't worry daughter dearest, your darling pa-pa is here to remind you just what you are!"

"You never freed me, you damned me. You made me defile everything I ever stood for, everything I believed in!" He burst into a spat of raucous laughter.

"Stupid Childe. I merely released the real you, let you express yourself without the chains these pathetic creatures put on you. But I know, this isn't truly you talking. My beautiful disaster, my little Wynnie is still in there somewhere, and I'm going to let her out." He reached out his free hand to brush her arctic hair almost tenderly. Aelfwynn tore herself free of her sire's grip, leaving a torn piece of brown cloth in his iron grip, and started to run towards the temple door.  
"Stop." It was barely a whisper, but Aelfwynn gasped as her entire body froze.

"Come here." Mindlessly, Aelfwynn obeyed, a horrified observer trapped inside herself.

Morcar bit into his own wrist, quickly holding it to face upwards as if not wanting to spill a single unnecessary drop. "Drink." Unable to stop herself, Aelfwynn clapsed the wrist to her mouth as if nothing else in existence mattered. The blood did not satisfy her, no, it seemed to set her hunger ablaze. Why had anything else ever mattered? One thought, one need. The need to hunt, to drink, to kill.

"Now then." Morcar said, a satisfied groan escaping his lips as he pulled his drained wrist away. He stepped into the side chamber, only to emerge a moment later, holding a terrified, beaten Danica by the scruff of her hood.

"Now, you feed." He released the priestess onto the altar, toppling clumsily before she attempted to rise.

"Aelfwynn?" she said, her eyes beginning to pool shocked tears.

Wynn lifted her head, a terrible grin beginning to split her incongruously innocent face, her eyes crimson wells. She leapt onto her prey, biting her neck viciously. The screams of her old friend filled her ears with a monstrous symphony.

With a delighted chuckle, a green light began to envelop Morcar. His features shifted, his clothes too, changing into a rather haughty looking redguard noble. He ran to the door, and shouted at the top of his lungs "GUARDS, GUARDS! HELP, THE TEMPLE!", before disappearing into the cover of night.

Moments later, five of Whiterun's guards burst in through the door, only to see Wynn's bloodied face rising from one of the many corpses which decorated the defiled place of worship.

 _Author's note: Thank you for all those who have been following the story thus far. I've been amazed by just how many people have looked at 'Atoning for Blood' over the few days its been published. This ends what I consider the prelude, the introductory season as it were. The next chapter initiates the next stage of the story as it expands and develops. Any reviews would be much appreciated, as it allows me to gage whether I'm successfully engaging your interest and (hopefully) improve my writing._


	8. Chapter 8: The Vampire Who Would Be King

Chapter 8: The Vampire Who Would Be King

Castle Volkihar was unchanged. Though a formidable fortress, centuries of neglect and decay ensured that the structure was gradually collapsing in on itself, and frankly, the Volkihar were no different. Morcar stormed through the castle gate, the pathetic mortal watchman drawing back in fear. He approached the crumbling stone railing which overlooked the hall of decadence that lay below. The three enormous table were lined with vampires. At the head of the far table, Lord Harkon sat on his throne, fingers drumming impatiently on the table before him. Alongside him were his sycophants and his whores, fawning over their lord's attention. At the two tables running perpendicular to his sat the less important vampires, or as Morcar thought the ones who still had a spine, symbolically arranged in distance from their tiresome lord. He recognised a few of them. Movarth Piquine drank from one of the thralls splayed across the tables, whilst the ghost-like Wihtraed the Wraith wordlessly shifted his eyes across the room, searching for any sign of treachery.

Making a show of casual disregard, Morcar slowly promenaded down the steps, and nonchalantly took his seat, four from the top on the right-hand table.

"Now that all of you have seen fit to join us." Harkon drawled, his voice barely attempting to conceal his contempt. "We have matters to discuss."

"All of you represent the most powerful of the vampire lords who claim domain and a herd here in Skyrim, and some of you come from even further afield. You are no doubt wondering why. I have been communing with our Lord Molag Bal, and it is clear to me now that the time of the prophecy is close at hand. Soon my elder scroll will be returned to me, and the tyranny of the sun, that blight which has so far restrained our power over this world – will end."

With his words, the hall began to resonate with the sound of hushed voices. Morcar took this opportunity to rile up his neighbour. "Why Fura Bloodmouth" He sneered, "is that you my dear? How long has it been? Your scar is as hideous as ever I must say. Those Vigilants still tracking you down like a stray dog every time you leave the castle?" She ignored his successive jabs, instead taking the opportunity to pull something out of her pocket and slam it against the table, her hand smoking slightly as she did so. It was an amulet of Stendarr. It appeared to be engraved with a name: 'Keeper Carcette'. Morcar looked at her, a moment of surprise crossing his face. Her returning grin was positively vicious. Something beyond Harkon's usual bluster was going on here, wisdom dictated he pay attention.

"Even now, the vampires under my command have begun a campaign of terror against the mortals of Skyrim, preparing the way for our impending conquest. The Hall of the Vigilants is no more, and none remain to stand against us. I call you here, to offer you a place in the new world I am building, we are of course… all of the same bloodline, all of us kindred." The saturated benevolence Morcar detected in his voice when he spoke the last words proved that Harkon had nearly as much contempt for this hall of undead waste as he did.

"Yet I am still your Lord. Serve me well, know your place, and you will live to see an eternity of blood. What do you say?"

"Why?"

Lord Harkon brought the full weight of his fiery gaze upon Morcar. "Morcar. I'm _so_ glad you decided to attend" The venom in his voice was so thick Morcar was surprised it didn't drip from his mouth.

"Pray tell me, what is it you fail to understand?"

"Well my Lord, I don't see the point of these open attacks. Frankly, they risk drawing unwanted attention to our presence here in Skyrim, and moreover they are completely absent of the essence, the very soul of being a vampire."

Harkon's fist crushed the goblet in his grip. "Well then, pathetic spawn of a traitorous harpy, tell us what is this 'soul' we are so missing?"

Morcar rose from his chair, lavishing in the attention that surrounded him. "To be a vampire is to walk amongst your prey, whilst they never know it. All the time learning to exploit their weaknesses, earn their trust, learn what they fear. It is to tear a city apart through mindless terror, and walk amongst the crowds who flee, basking in the scent of their fear. To be a vampire is to be an artist, a sculptor of exquisite devastation." A number of the vampires on the lower table began to murmur in agreement. Those seated near Harkon were notably silent.

"It seems, from my humble point of view, as if many of those in your service my lord have failed to learn that their tongue can be as powerful a weapon as their claws, and if tempered properly, a vampire's cunning can achieve far more." He paused for a moment, ensuring an appropriate air of drama. "Therefore, I wonder, dear lord Harkon, in this new world of yours, where would the artistry be?"

In a split second, he was lifted off the ground, sharp claws digging into this throat. Harkon's skin turned as black as dead blood, and his form began to twist and expand. A grey demon stood before him, midnight eyes like the void boring into Morcar.

"Since your sire apparently failed to educate you, worm, let me take the opportunity. THIS, is the essence of what a vampire is. Power, not your underhand games, true, untainted power in its purest form." He threw Morcar to the floor with a crack, whilst the court began to cackle mockingly.

"So, we can now move on to the next order of business." Harkon returned to his regular form, and began to pace around the centre of the hall, emanating a sense of total ease. He cast his eyes down at the vampire struggling to rise before him. "Morcar, I hear your progeny has abandoned you, and is now living among mortals" He said the last two words with a disgusted disdain, though the shame this caused Morcar quickly seemed to lift his spirits. Morcar took a moment to snap his jaw back into place. "The issue is dealt with, my lord. I have reminded her of her responsibilities and suitably chastised her. She has no-one but us now, she will either flee to us, or be put to death by the mortals. Either way, the situation is resolved."

"I am grateful for your diligence in this matter Morcar." Harkon sneered, "For if you had not, I would have had you both put to death." Harkon leaned in close. "And don't think your safe because of your petty little appeals to the weaklings of my court. Whilst you are useful, you live. But once my patience with you runs out…" He bared his fangs.

"There's nowhere in this world you, or your wretched spawn can hide from me."


	9. Chapter 9: Blood Ties

Chapter 9: Blood Ties

 _This time the images were different. Rather than flowing from one scene, one landscape to the next the world seemed completely consistent. To Aelfwynn it felt as if she were re-living a memory. The Windhelm gates swung open as the procession of Stormcloak soldiers marched into the city, some with heads held high, others with a kind of hopelessness carved into their fair Nordic complexions, the wounded trailing behind them like the train of some morbid gown. Aelfwynn walked amongst the wounded, having worked through the afternoon trying to keep as many of them as possible from bleeding out on the battle field. The Imperials had spent the better part of a week attempting to establish permanent camps on the high ground surrounding Windhelm, and the cost had been abominable for both sides. Though she had begun in the Imperial camps, the legion tended to have had better access to potions, herbs and mages, therefore she slipped out of their camp a day or so into the conflict, in order to try and do the most good. She collapsed, exhausted onto the thick stone stairs leading up to Candlehearth hall, for the first time in what seemed like days letting herself relax. None of the soldiers seemed to note her sudden absence. As she surveyed the strangely mournful city, she noticed a pitiable sight. A hunched over man, wrapped in a thick blanket limped towards a nearby side street. His shambling gait made it seem as if the blanket was the only thing holding him together. Poor Beggar, Aelfwynn thought. Suddenly feeling the compulsion to try and aid the man, she followed him towards the alley, yet when she reached the turning, he appeared to have vanished. Walking down the shadow-stricken street, a pair of fiery eyes suddenly emerged from a hidden alcove. Suddenly she felt a searing pain in her neck, and the entire world appeared to spin, getting faster and faster with every moment. After a momentary eternity, Aelfwynn started to fall backwards, but two icy hands forcefully cupped either side of her face, those glowing red eyes only inches away, boring into her very being._

" _You can die here. Here, in this filthy alley. Here, as the empty waste you are now. No one will remember you for long, I can promise you that. It's the nature of mortals. Every life you've saved, every person you've aided, they just see another faceless slave of the divines, filling her allotted time here on Nirn before she withers and dies. You can die here, as your beloved Mara no doubt intended… Or you can be reborn. I can show you a world where your name will garner, no, demand the respect you've always lusted for in your heart. I've watched you, I know you crave it. I can see to it your mark on the world will endure as eternally as you will. Accept my gift, or do you still think your precious Mara offers you more?" He dropped her, letting her fading body fall onto the snow-coated cobble, then bit into his own wrist. "You can die, as an unmemorable snack, or you can rise as my daughter of the night. The choice is yours" he spoke these last words almost nonchalantly, as if one way or the other, it meant almost nothing to him._

 _Aelfwynn bit into his wrist with a dreadful hunger._

Suddenly, Aelfwynn stood several feet from the scene, watching as her former self gorged herself on her Sire's blood. "This is where I ended." She said blandly. There was a sense of finality to the words.

"Do you really believe that?" A voice from behind her uttered. "Or does it just make it easier?" Aelfwynn turned to see Morcar leaning against one of the enormous stone brick walls which bordered the alley. His expression was serious for a change, lacking the cruel humour which usually dominated his presence.

"I'm dreaming." Aelfwynn stated simply.

"Evidently."

She crossed her arms. "It's customary to do this sort of thing alone."

"Did I really never get around to teaching you about the nature of the blood bond?"

"Enlighten me." Aelfwynn responded from behind clenched teeth.

"Watch" he said, placing one hand on her shoulder, the other gesturing towards the memory of them both in the alley. Aelfwynn was still draining her sire's wrist, whilst Morcar stood over her almost protectively. The present Morcar leaned into her ear. "In this moment, I had drained your body of its blood, its life-force. Then I offered you my own in return. Vampires do not choose to sire lightly, or rather, those that do aren't likely to survive long in undeath. All vampires are members of a certain bloodline, going back to the sons and daughters of Coldharbour. Vampires in a bloodline therefore share the same blood. Between Sire and progeny, the bond is strongest of any, as whilst all of us in a bloodline share the blood of a pure childe of Molag Bal, each one of us has a distinct… essence, which we instil in our progeny."

Aelfwynn nodded in reluctant understanding.

"You will remember those many times when we worked closely together in the past. Do you recall those unremarkable moments, where a complex series of thoughts was conveyed in a simple glance? Or how I felt every rush of exaltation as you punished those who had wronged you? How you could sense my presence before you ever saw my face?"

Aelfwynn couldn't believe she hadn't noticed it before. Morcar was right. A sudden desperate hope filled her. "So it was you, all those evil impulses, everything I did?"

"No, my wayward darling daughter. You may have inherited the odd instinct, gained occasional insights into my mind, as well as echoes of my experience may have been yours, but the wonderous things you achieved all came from you." He placed his hand tenderly on her cheek before she pulled away. "I have never been so proud of anything in my life as I was with you."

Aelfwynn wished she could hate him. She wished she could loath him with every fibre of her being. She wished she could plunge him into the earth and rid herself of every trace, bury everything she did with him. He was monstrous, he represented the dark, the absence of any morality. Yet she could never bring herself to hate him.

Without warning his voice took on a pained tone. "What did this to you Wynn? What is it that has taken you from me?"

Aelfwynn turned towards the entrance to the alley, where her past-self had walked out of her former life and into this darker one. A figure, covered in snow stood straddling the street. Aelfwynn approached, whilst reluctantly Morcar followed. With her hand she cleared the face she had been looking into for so many years. The weeping statue of Mara stood in ornate gold underneath the sheets of snow. "She came back to claim what is rightfully hers. What I promised her." Aelfwyyn said, slight hesitation in her voice. Simultaneously, she reached down to the amulet which she wore, gentling fondling it almost unconsciously. There was no smoke. "Of course." Morcar spat. "It's not enough she took your life, now she wants to take your un-life. To take it from me."

"It's what I chose." Aelfwynn almost whispered.

"Hmph. You had precious little choice the way I see it."

Aelfwynn looked at him quizzically.

"Well, you would hardly be the first young noblewoman carted off to join the priesthood."

Aelfwynn glared at him. "Don't you dare."

"Don't what? Suggest that your parents loved that brat of a younger brother more than they ever found in their heart for you? Perhaps that they arranged a neat disposal of your claim to the estate to set him up nicely?"

Aelfwynn threw herself at him, lifting him by the neck and putting pressure on his throat. Tears stained her face, which had regained the full monstrous pallor of a starving vampire, red shadows surrounding her crimson eyes, cheekbones unnaturally defined, fangs in full display. "You. Know, Nothing." She hissed, eyeing him dangerously.

"You forget" his restricted voice wheezed, "The blood bond works both ways. They ignored you, never showed much of an interest, then suddenly out of nowhere they encouraged you to follow 'your calling'. Naturally, you lapped up the waves of approval and before you know if they sold you to the goddess who now claims to own you!"

She lowered him to his feet, her arms slumping to her sides. Morcar took one of her hands in his grip.

"All I have ever done, I have done to free you from being their tool, their slave. To them you were nothing. But not to me."

"Impressive insights there." Aelfwynn replied in a broken voice. "You'd make a decent priest yourself Morcar. Think you've missed a calling of your own?" He made an indelicate sound.

"Well then, 'father', what do you want?"

He stared back at her blankly.

"This isn't a social call. You forget, I know you." He let out a small chuckle at that.

"Mara hasn't dulled your perceptions entirely then childe? Well, you're right. Even more astonishing, I think you'll agree we're on the same side here." Morcar went on to explain the Volkihar clan, the nature of the vampire pure-blood Harkon, and his plan to darken the sun. He explained the various power bases in the vampire hierarchy, and the consequences for her precious mortals if the prophecy were to come to pass. "Dimhollow crypt. He believes that something of great power hidden there, and if I'm right, it could be his elder scroll." Aelfwynn's eyes widened at that. "My face is well known amongst Harkon's court, and I'll wager my likeness has been circulated among his lackeys. You however my dear Wynnie, are far less… noticeable in those circles, or if they've heard of your exploits, they won't know you by sight." He lifted a lock of her white hair. "Might want to do something about this though. A little conspicuous if I'm honest. I know you're all about the flair dearest, but some kind of hood or dye may be in order."

Aelfwynn closed her eyes for a moment, turning away from him. "You know, I could almost believe you, all of it. But here's the thing. You talk about how you 'freed me' from those who wanted to control my life, but then I recall the last time we met you tried to control me just as they did. You forced me to drink, murder a friend in a place of worship, and then left me to an execution." She removed her hand from his. "In the end, I'm just a tool to you too. We're finished." The landscape began to waft and distort, then suddenly the buildings, the alley and finally Morcar himself, an expression of regret on his face, disappeared into ash-clouds of darkest night.


	10. Chapter 10: Endurance

Chapter 10: Endurance

It had been two days since she'd been thrown in the depths of Dragonsreach dungeon. Though the blood of the mortal life she'd taken, enhanced by that of her Sire had filled her with a terrible rush, within the first day Aelfwynn had begun to return to a more tolerable state of mind. Though she hardly noticed when they dragged her inside, the Whiterun guards had not simply locked her inside a cell. Instead, they had stripped and searched her to remove any weapons and equipment, replacing her robe with an oversized ragged shirt seemingly made of sack-cloth. Then, they took her into a cell with a hollow grate in the floor, and proceeded to drop her into it. A few moments later the cellar was plunged into darkness as the scraping of an immense weight travelled over the grate. Since then Aelfwynn had spent the time trying to calm her blood-saturated body, afterwards resorting counting the drips of water which endlessly permeated the crumbling mortar. That day, or night – Aelfwynn was no longer able to keep track of the time, the vast weight was shifted, and the reflections of torchlight began to illuminate her dank abode. Aelfwynn crawled across the filthy floor, almost eagerly knowing her death was likely fast approaching. A finely dressed, imposing Nord stood above the grate, glaring down at her. He was adorned in a garment which emanated a certain barbarian nobility, and his blonde-crowned head was adorned with a gemmed circlet". _The Jarl_ , Aelfwynn presumed.

"I want you to know that I was against keeping you alive from the start, beast. However… even Avenicci can have a good idea once in a while. We need to know about these Vampire attacks. I've had reports from Morthal to Riften that large groups of your kind are slaughtering the people of Skyrim, for no clear purpose, with no pattern to their attacks. If you talk, your death will be quick. As painless as we can manage. If you don't, I will leave you down here until you either go mad or fade away from hunger, then the sunrise can take you."

She was silent for a few moment, her expression nearly uncomprehending.

"Well beast, what do you say?"

"Danica… is she? I mean is there any chance…" she trailed off. The Jarl knotted his brow, clearly confused by her change of subject.

"She was dead moments after we pulled you off her vampire." He said, his voice filled with short-tempered contempt. Aelfwynn failed to repress a fit of sobbing.

"You should have killed me, should have ended the pain. It's worse going on, knowing what I've done."

The Jarl was clearly taken aback by her display, obviously a man not comfortable with such open displays of emotion, especially after having steeled himself for interrogating what he presumed to be an inhuman monster. After he quickly regained his composure, he continued his assault. "Don't think you can fool me with your performance vampire, deceit is a renowned weapon of your depraved kind."

"What you think of me is irrelevant. Your instincts are right Jarl, something terrible is coming, and these attacks are just the start."

"I imagine you're awfully smug about that."

"On the contrary, I'm going to do everything in my knowledge to help you survive. May Mara give me strength…"

Over the next few days Aelfwynn had no lack of visitors. Commander Caius of the city guard, blunt and proud, often came alongside Hrongar, the Jarl's blustering brother. Occasionally the Jarl himself would sit in on these meetings. She began to explain the line between superstition and reality as far as creatures of the night are concerned. "A stake is completely useless I'm afraid. You might be able to kill a vampire with it, but you'd have much more luck with a sword. Silvered weapons are the key, they burn a vampire's very flesh, stop them from using their blood to heal."

"How do we know you aren't just spreading lies to help your friends when they come, vampire?" The jarl asked pointedly. Aelfwynn thought the change from 'beast' to 'vampire' was progress of a sort. "Oh, for Mara's sake!" She held her hand through the grate, causing Hrongar to leap backwards and draw his enormous axe. "If one of you has a silvered weapon, go and bring it here, hold it against my skin and you'll see!".

Jarl Balgruuf gave his brother a stiff nod, and after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, he did as she asked. Aelfwyyn's hand sizzled as Hrongar held the bare silver against her skin, giving off a plume of smoke and causing her to hiss involuntarily. Her advice was taken more seriously after that. Aelfwynn went on to explain how unlike a mortal, a vampire would go up in flame like kindling if exposed to a bare flame, though when the Jarl dryly asked if she would demonstrate she did not dignify him with a response.

Towards the end of her first week of incarceration, after the ravenous hunger had re-emerged like an unquenchable drought within her, the Jarl came to visit. His face was troubled, lacking the steel he had stalwartly attempted to wear until this point. Unlike before, he bent down on one knee as he peered into Aelfwynn's pit. "I need to know why you did it damnit! I don't understand you, and to be honest, mysteries irritate me." _One of a great many things I'm sure_ , Aelfwynn thought to herself. Her voice raspy from the hunger, Aelfwynn struggled to reply "I'm assuming you mean the attack on the temple?"

"What else would I want to know?" He stated curtly.

"Danica was my friend. I never wanted to hurt her."

He scoffed at that. "My guards didn't see the guilt across your bloodied face when they dragged you away."

"Neither did they see the escape of the vampire who framed me for the other deaths, took control of my body and forced me to feed on Danica."

"Something I've learned from watching my children, if you want to tell a lie keep it simple. And believable."

"Nettlebane."

"What?"

"Nettlebane. Danica sent me to Orphan's rock to collect it, to restore the Gildergreen. If I just intended to murder her and her fellow priests, why did I risk my life to collect it? Check the possessions your guards brought in. Check with Uthgerd and Jon Battle-born, we travelled together, fought together. Maybe they'll vouch for me. I don't want your mercy, I just want to die knowing I'm not responsible for one more massacre. I'll never forgive myself for Danica anyway."

"Hmph, funny you mention Battle-Born. It was brought to my attention he tried to break into the dungeons, sword drawn."

"He-he tried to rescue me?" Aelfwynn stuttered.

"It was a _silver_ sword. He came in insisting to execute you personally. According to Olfrid the boy has been completely out of sorts since we locked you down here. Something you did to his mind Olfrid thinks. Either way, I've got a hold needs running." He began to leave.

"Jarl Balgruuf? There was one thing."

"If you're asking for someone to devour, forget it."

"No… my amulet of Mara. It was taken from me in the temple. It's important to me, that's all I ask."

"Sentiment from the last temple you massacred vampire?"

"Hope. From the one being that I like to think hasn't completely abandoned me." Aelfwynn stated, before retreating into the darkness of her prison.

Hunger turned into starvation. Aelfwynn's entire vision appeared to be painted with a red tinge, and her thoughts became less and less lucid. She became little more than an animal, screaming for blood as her body began to go into shock. When she saw the strip of light and the gentle metallic timbre Aelfwynn thought she'd lost her mind. Not even opening her eyes, Aelfwynn reached out amongst the dirt to suddenly recoil from a familiar scolding pain. The Jarl had returned her amulet to her after all.

First thing in the morning the Jarl had heard the news. An enormous plume of smoke from the south, appearing to come from the Imperial outpost of Helgen. Word had reached the Jarl the day before about Ulfric Stormcloak's capture at Darkwater Crossing, and while Balgruuf had never expected the headstrong Jarl of Windhelm to go quietly, he could not imagine how Ulfric had managed it this time. The rumours beginning to circulate the city were beginning to fill an already startled city with unrest. Some said Ulfric himself had turned into a dragon as a sign of Talos' favour, and other claims were even more ludicrous. He was holding council with Proventus Avenicci, his steward, when the rest of the news arrived. A stranger, a certain swagger in his step, approached his throne. Irileth immediately drew her blade and moved to intercept him. His words caught the jarl's attention immediately.

"I have news from Helgen. About the dragon attack."

He was a Nord. Taller than average, though he stood with a more slender frame than many of their bulky kinsmen. His auburn hair sat impatiently on his shoulders, spreading every which way. His eyes were an envious green, whist his right was emphasised with a long scar which stretched vertically from cheek to forehead. His battle-worn appearance however, clashed with the faint air of mischief that seemed sewn into his cheekbones.

"So, you were at Helgen. You saw this 'dragon' with your own eyes?"

"Yes." He stated, crossing his gangly arms. "I had a wonderful view while the Imperials were trying to cut off my head."

The Jarl was taken aback at that. "Really… well, you're certainly forthright about your criminal past. But it's none of my concern who the Imperials want to execute. Certainly with what's going on now. What I want to know is what exactly happened at Helgen?"

"The Imperials were about to execute Ulfric Stormcloak. Then the dragon attacked. Riverwood may be next."

"I had my suspicions Ulfric would be involved… hmm. So then Proventus, should we continue to trust in the strength of our walls, against a dragon? Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once."

Proventus breathed in shock, "The jarl of Falkreath will see that as a provocation, he will think we intend to join Ulfric's side against him!"

"Enough! I will not stand Idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people!"

After Proventus asked permission to return to his duties, the Jarl beckoned the stranger to accompany him. "Come. Let's go see Farengar, my court wizard. He's been investigating these 'dragons' and rumours of dragons. There is another something you could do for me, suitable perhaps for someone with your particular talents."

The stranger left later that morning, having been briefed by his dismissive court wizard. Farengar had sent the poor soul into the depths of cursed Bleak Falls Barrow. The Jarl offered to put the man up for a while to rest, but he seemed keen to head off, radiating a boundless energy. By Shor, he needed good men with enthusiasm like that in these dark days. Despite the grave nature of the morning's news, Jarl Balgruuf felt a sense of relief as he went about the days affairs. Though the dangers were real indeed, there was a sense of closure to knowing exactly what they were. Vampires and Dragons, and he was doing all he could to address them. He cast an idle thought in the direction of the creature languishing in the depths of his dungeon. According to the townsfolk his people had questioned, she seemed a competent priestess, reserved but friendly. No, he had to protect his own people first. He could spare no thought for monsters, even ones as strange as this 'Aelfwynn'.

His relief however, freely abandoned him when word reached him after sunset. Vampires were assaulting the gate. Dozens of the foul things.

"No Irileth. Just as I told Proventus, I'll not sit on my throne whilst my people are slaughtered!" the Jarl bellowed, his servants helping him into his steel plate armour shrinking back from the force of his voice. "Damnit, where's that man I sent to Jorrvaskr, I need to know we have everyone who knows how to point a sword out there."

"If he's not back in a moment my Jarl, I'll go there myself. You'll have their steel, I swear it."

"I know I can count on you Irileth. Oh, and tell Farengar to stay here, we can't risk him right now. Right, you lot, with me! And bring those silvered weapons."

The fighting was ferocious. Despite the best efforts of the gold-clad guards to buttress the inner gate, the inhuman strength of the undead horde threw it off its enormous hinges. Two men were crushed instantly, whilst the others narrowly jumped clear. The guards drew back into a defensive Semi-circle, attempting to prevent the vampires from advancing any further into the densely populated city. The casualties were awful. The light mail armour the guards wore was not strong enough to protect their necks from the powerful bites of the frenzied fiends, who fell upon the guards like a waterfall of blood.

It would have been over in minutes if not for the silver weapons the Jarl had distributed amongst many of the guards. Two days previously he had ordered all readily available silver melted down and forged for weaponry, and the uncharacteristic necessity in the Jarl's voice had resulted in the townsfolk's compliance with little difficulty.

The lines of the guards were just beginning to shatter when the companions arrived. Led by the jarl himself, the earth-shaking charge of heavily clad warriors stormed down the hill, shrieking their battle cries. Such a cacophony caused even the monsters of the night pause in their onslaught. The vampires could not withstand them, and within a matter of moments the undead harvest had been reaped, the scattered survivors slinking back into the shadows beyond the urban battlefield.

After beginning the ascent towards Dragonsreach, the bloodied Commander Caius pulled in to walk alongside his jarl. "The temple of Kynareth is beginning to fill with the wounded my lord, but after the other night's 'incident' there isn't anyone to tend them, we're doing our best, but things are quickly spiralling out of control."

Balgruuf stopped in his tracks. "Head to the Bannered Mare, grab that high elf mage and bring her to Dragonsreach. Can't miss her, tall, self-important, never three feet away from a bottle of wine. Then head to the temple, organise the men to move as many of the wounded to the great hall, we'll have more space to aid them there. Send someone to drag Arcadia out of her Cauldron. I'm going to get Farengar."

"Immediately my lord, but only one of them really has any notable skill with healing, will it be enough?"

"It might have to be. On the other hand, I have one last idea. Now go man!"


	11. Chapter 11: Short Leash

Chapter 11: Short Leash

The scent of blood rose and fell in the air like a dissonant melody, syncopating the rhythm of every moment of her existence. The starving beast inside Aelfwynn ruled her every movement, while the priestess tried to hold on to some fragment of herself. She wore her customary amulet above her sack cloth rags, but by now it offered her little strength. Aelfwynn's enhanced hearing picked up the reverberating voices from the floor above.

"Damnit man, what kind of a state is it in? Say what you mean." The jarl belted, clearly addressing one of her captors.

"I'm sorry my Jarl" he cleared his throat. "She stopped screaming last night, the sobbing was over by this afternoon. We had to increase the number of shifts three-fold for the sake of morale."

"I doubt she'll be bothering for much longer my Jarl, she can't have long left" another voice uttered.

"By Talos… I sometimes wonder if we aren't the monsters." He rubbed his eyes in exhaustion. "Right." He stated, regaining his focus. "You there, go to the larder, find whatever game you can, deer, fox bird and bring it down here. The freshest we have."

"My Jarl?"

"NOW MAN!"

After all that had happened, Jarl Balgruuf was in no mood to tolerate questions. He knew that if they began to second-guess their decisions, no matter how desperate, lives would be lost while they fretted. Such was the cost of leadership. Shortly they returned, carrying the soon-to-be carrion. The jarl took it from them, ordering the hide helmeted guards to shift the large weight placed over the Vampire's grate. The Jarl bent down to peer into the pit. Without warning two alabaster arms hurled themselves at him through the grate, with two volcanic eyes penetrating the darkness below. The vampire hissed and roared, a madness in her movement. As the guards fell back in terror, the Jarl grabbed her wrists with an iron grip. The beast continued to flail wildly, not comprehending, only needing.

"AELFWYNN!" He shouted, using her name for the first time. The change did not seem completely lost on her, as her flailing became less agitated. After a moment she voice responded, a voice dry as forgotten sands.

"End it Balgruuf… please."

"We no longer have that luxury. You're needed. I hear you were a priestess girl?"

She nodded, clearly pained by the struggle of maintaining some semblance of control.

"Will animal blood keep you alive? For a while?"

She nodded again, her mouth opening involuntarily. The jarl beckoned to the guards, who held the largest specimen, a medium sized deer, down to the grate. Balgruuf felt positively sickened as he watched her tear into the animal, made worse by the fact that she didn't seem to enjoy it either, instead driven by some primal, unstoppable need. After she drained it completely, she merely hissed "More."

The Jarl nodded to his men and they complied. It continued until she had drained everything they had brought. The Jarl noticed a hint of colour seemed to return to her skin, her cheeks filled out and lines of stress seemed to disappear from her face.

"That… can't have been pleasant to watch Jarl. I'm sorry you had to see it."

He ignored her statement "There's been an attack. Vampires. We drove them off, but we have a lot of wounded. Usually we'd have the temple attendants but" he paused, as if realising the sensitivity of the subject "You're needed. Will you help us?"

Her face was filled with a solemn determination. "In any way I can."

Reluctantly, the guards removed the reinforced locks from the grate. After pulling her out of the hole, the jarl signalled to two guards who were apparently standing out of sight, emerging with what seemed to be a long chain with a kind of collar around the end of it. Jarl Balgruuf sighed.

"They'll know who you are. Emotions are running high, and your kind just slaughtered many of their friends and families." He explained. "It's as much for their peace of mind as anything else. Don't think I'm stupid either, letting you in a hall full of the wounded… well to me it's as bad as leading a bear into a beehive."

Aelfwynn submitted to the indignity without argument, and slowly they began to make their way up through the depths of the Nordic fortress of wood and stone. The situation was worse than she could have imagined. Men and women were laid out in rows along every flat surface, and whilst friends and family looked on with worried expressions, the number of healers on hand was woefully inadequate.

"Is there anything else you need?" The jarl asked pointedly.

"Danica used to have a satchel, it may well have some useful medicinal equipment. I'll have to use magic sparingly, if I heal every one of their wounds that way I'll exhaust myself before I can tend a lot of them."

The jarl nodded. "Get to it."

Aelfwynn was hardly inconspicuous as the snake-like chain clanked behind her. As she approached each one of the wounded warriors, those around them would recoil in fear, or from the stench which still covered her from a week of incarceration. Despite the dehumanising effect however, Aelfwynn felt more human than she had in a long while. The easing of suffering on her patients' faces, the occasional words of gratitude, it reminded her of why she'd travelled to Skyrim so long ago, it provided continuity and clarity.

After stabilising several of the worst casualties, Aelfwynn encountered a familiar face. Uthgerd the Unbroken lay broken on the wooden floor. Her skin was deathly pale, and the left side of her neck had been savaged and torn. As Aelfwynn knelt beside her former comrade in arms, she was surprised to find her awake.

"Hmph." She grunted weakly "I heard they killed you." Her voice was weak and hollow, yet her blunt and unemotional nature remained untarnished. Aelfwynn smiled sadly. "Not yet Uthgerd. Not while I'm needed."

Uthgerd lifted her arm unsteadily pointing towards her injured neck. "I'd offer you a drink bloodsucker, but I don't think I have the spare." She paused for a moment, struggling to breath deeply. "Anything you can do?"

Aelfwynn gulped, trying to restrain her own emotions. "I… I can lessen the pain. I'm afraid you've lost too much blood Uthgerd, too much for you to replenish."

"Hmph. Doesn't bother me much, Sovngard's long overdue. Perhaps finally someone can give me a good fi-". Over the course of an instant, her eyes froze and she spoke no more. Aelfwynn closed Uthgerd's eyes and placed her steel-plated arms across her chest, as if she were sleeping. Suddenly the Jarl gripped one of her shoulders and dropped something in her lap. It was Danica's satchel.

"We can grieve later." He emphasised, sympathy hiding in his voice. "But for now, there are lives need saving."

Not all of those under Aelfwynn's care were so peaceful. A mud-haired young man who looked as though he had barely scrambled out of boyhood gripped her ragged clothes possessively as she tried to bind his wounds, his head shaking from side to side. An elderly woman knelt by him, gripping his hand deep in reassurance. His movements spoke of an agonised panic, he was clearly unaccustomed to the idea of his own mortality. "Oh gods I can't die, mother I can't!" Suddenly, his wild eyes focused on Aelfwynn. "You. I know what you are, you can save me!"

"I'm doing everything I can, but you need to calm down. You're only going to aggravate your wounds."

"You… you can make me like you, make me live forever! Bite me, do it. BITE ME!" as he spoke his voice broke into an animalistic scream. The other injured were clearly distressed by the display.

"Shh, stay calm, your wounds aren't too bad. You'll make it, you just need to calm down."

"You're lying, you're only saying that because I'm dying." The boy's mother looked at her, an impossible hope in her brimming eyes. "Can you do what he says? Can you save him?"  
"I wouldn't be saving him, I'd be destroying him. But as I said, he's going to-"

Suddenly she heard a crunch, felt a sharp pain as the boy bit into her forearm without pause or remorse. "NO!" Aelfwynn yelled, pulling her arm away sharply and examining the wound. Blood began to seep out of the bite-mark, meandering down her arm in streaks. The pained shrieked at Aelfwynn but she pushed it from her mind. The boy began to thrash again, finally at the end of her patience, Aelfwynn conjured a ball of green light in her right hand and pushed it into the boy's chest. For a moment his entire body emanated with the same green light, before fading away. His breathing slowed, his voice calmed. "I- I think I need to rest now," he said, gently crossing the wall of sleep.

His mother was still staring at her in disbelief. "What did you do?" she demanded.

"I calmed him down. I'm sorry, but his panic and refusal to stay still could have killed him otherwise."

Aelfwynn quickly applied several of Danica's herbs, as well as a poultice to the more inflamed of his injuries. "He needs rest, please see to it" she said, before moving on to her next charge.

Several hours later, the wounded and the slain had almost entirely been removed from the hall, to be take home, to the hall of the dead, or for further attendance in the temple under Arcadia's watchful eye. The two mages, Farengar and Eldawyn were engaged in trivial conversation as they slumped against one of the tables, seemingly to distract their minds from the night's ordeal

"You're obsession with wine borders on the unhealthy Elda, I honestly don't know how your ever clear-headed enough for serious study."

"I don't see it as a negative. My Nord friends often chide me for neglecting the 'rich history' of Skyrim, as if I was ignorant of it. They say, 'you know Elda, there's more to Skyrim than just alto and spiced wine!' I know I tell them, I know about your windmills and bards and twelve different words for cold. But I only care about the wine. As for the study, you should try it Farengar, wine tends to make dusty tomes written by dusty men much less tedious."

Aelfwynn was rustling through Danica's satchel, every item reminding her of the friend she'd never see again. Her arm, whilst still smarting irritatingly, had ceased bleeding at last. Her hand settled on what seemed to be a book. Aelfwynn pulled it out to examine it. The cover had the usually avian imagery associated with a restoration tome, but behind the bird was what appeared to be the image of a sun, round with wispy spokes bordering the circumference. She began to leaf through the yellowed, aged pages. Aelfwynn's eyes widened at her discovery. This book explored the ways of harnessing the power of sunlight, channelling concentrated beams of solar energy. This required further reading.

"So, what am I to do with you, hmm?" The jarl stood above her, his arms crossed. "If I'm honest, it would be easiest to dispose of you quietly, no risk there. However… think what you will of me, I'm not a monster. And I'm starting to realise, strange as it may seem, that you aren't either."

"I'm not so sure about that last part. I've done things Jarl Balgruuf, things that haunt my every moment. Mara's mercy is all that stands between me and doing it over again."

He frowned for a moment. "You know, as children we Nords are raised on stories of heroes and monsters. Olaf and the Dragon, Ysgramor and Herma Mora, there's no room for anything in between. As a man however, I've come to learn that such views are naïve. You know what makes you truly a monster girl?"

She shook her head, intrigued by his words.

"A monster never looks back. A monster feels nothing for her crimes and lives only to feed her own desires, and the suffering of others. Think on that."

The Jarl paced back and forth in front of her for several moments, weighing his options. "You'll stay in the dungeons tonight, but not in that damn pit. I'll have a clean cell made up for you." He paused a moment, taking a rather audible sniff of the air. "And… I'll have someone bring a bath down. We must think of morale after all."

 _Author's note: Thank you to everyone who continues to follow 'Atoning for Blood'. If you're enjoying the story, or have any comment to make feel free, the reviews and favourites show me that readers are engaging with the work and means the world to a writer. The next entry will probably come over the weekend, so until then!_


	12. Chapter 12: Dragon Rising

Chapter 12: Dragon Rising

Jarl Balgruuf the Greater found the return to normality unnerving. It seemed wrong somehow that after the deaths of so many, life had any right to continue on without recognising the weight of recent events. However, to be Jarl meant you had to embody the calm and stability the people needed, regardless of any personal grief or feeling. He was almost grateful from the break from the routine when the auburn-haired stranger returned. He bore the marks of his journey upon him. Unlike during his last visit he was clasped in thick, partially rusted iron, and the numerous shallow cuts his face and body bore told of the perils of his quest as much as any words could. Nonetheless, his face shone with the pride of victory, and Balgruuf could not help but mirror his smile when he approached the throne. The stranger gave an extravagant bow, before reaching into his knapsack.

"My Jarl" he proclaimed gaily, "The Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow". A sudden series of crashes echoed over from the adjoining chamber as Farengar, apparently not as immersed as usual in his studies and enchantments, stumbled into the great hall, chasing an opaque glass orb which seemed to be rolling away from him. Balgruuf shook his head. "You have done well my friend. Here, walk with me a moment" he said, rising and starting up the stairs behind the throne. As the stranger moved to follow, Faranger excitedly took the Dragonstone and disappeared back into his arcane lair.

"I realise stranger, that I haven't even thought to ask your name. Such simple formalities seem lost in these troubled times."

The stranger smiled at that. "Sihtric, my jarl."

"Well Sihtric, the least I can do to reward your service to Whiterun hold, is to replace those kitchen pots you're wearing" he knocked on Sihtric's iron breastplate, a hollow sound reverberating from the impact. "I'm sure we can find some steel from my personal armoury which should fit you, what do you say?". Sihtric could only grin in response as he brushed a lock of his wild hair to the side, the torchlight gleaming in his smiling green eyes. 

The moon shone half-heatedly on the plains of Whiterun. Ivar pulled his neck-scarf tighter about his neck, as the autumn chill attempted to seep beneath his guard's uniform. It had been a quiet evening. A band of Khajiit traders had passed by just before sunset, and at one point a rabbit had leapt out of the undergrowth right by the watchtower, nearly giving Hroki and Tor a heart-attack. Even after the recent vampire assault, the night-watch at the western watchtower was infamous amongst the guards for lack of anything resembling action. The best you could hope for would be the bandits from the fort up the road getting uppity, either attacking the tower themselves or causing enough of a nuisance that the Jarl would order this current group flushed out. Gods it had been far too long since they had carried out a good bandit raid. Ivar kicked a small pebble half-buried in the turf, and watched it arc through the air before clicking against the moss-stained cobbles that made up the road. A sudden sound broke through his melancholic mood. Was it just the wind? He paused a moment, listening into the distance. Nothing. _Pah_ , Ivar thought, the tension of the last few days was playing havoc on his senses. He took a gluttonous gulp of the mead concealed in his belt. Just a few more hours until he could crawl under those furs…

The roar returned, far louder, clearer and closer than before. Ivar squinted at the sky, trying to make out where the noise was coming from. It seemed to echo in the air all around him. His comrades stood frozen by the entrance to the watch tower, eyes similarly sky bound. It didn't even take a moment for the inferno to swallow him. One second Ivar's thoughts lingered on that girl he left behind in Karthwasten, the next his ashes thought of nothing at all. 

Even from the Dragonsreach dungeons, Aelfwynn could tell all was not well. As she gripped the iron bars of her prison, the creak of countless footfalls rapidly moving over the floors above was clearly audible, and the air was saturated with a nervous tension. Aelfwynn's vampire senses were well accustomed to the scent of fear, and she repressed the momentary rush of delight that threatened to claw its way to the surface. One of the closed-helmeted guards entered the dungeon, carrying Aelfwynn's metal leash in his clenched fists, followed in quick succession by two compatriots, grim expressions plain on their faces and their hands sat on silver scabbards. "Jarl wants to see you vampire," the first guard barked harshly. "You cause any trouble and we'll see to your execution here and now." As if in answer to their comrade's threat, the two other guards drew their silver swords.

Aelfwynn was sick to the bone of their arrogance. For over a week now she had endured not only the disdain, hatred and disregard for her as a person, but her assistance and cooperation not to mention her suffering at their hands had apparently gone completely unnoticed. Her sire's words repeated in her mind:

" _No one will remember you for long, I can promise you that. It's the nature of mortals. Every life you've saved, every person you've aided, they just see another faceless slave… To them you were nothing."_

Aelfwynn snapped. Despite trying to hang on to the Maran teachings of humility, service and compassion, it was time for a lesson of her own.  
"Do you really think little Nord, that if I was in here for any reason except my free will you could have a hope of stopping me leaving? Are you really so deluded?"

The haughty guard scoffed at that, rattling her leash mockingly. However, his laughter quickly died when two sizzling flashes of red light erupted from both of Aelfwynn's bare white arms, shooting into the two guards behind them, twisting around their limbs until they fused with their skin. Aelfwyyn watched as their faces shifted from amusement, to confusion to utter terror. They let out a horrific scream, dropped their weapons and bolted from the room. Whilst the first guard stood, his jaw dropped in disbelief, Aelfwynn grabbed his tunic through the bars and pulled him close. His blood stank of weakness and fear. It was intoxicating.

"Let me teach you a lesson, you pathetic excuse for a man. Those who have true strength don't feel the need to try and prove it to their own captives."

Beginning to sink into the rising music of the blood, Aelfwynn realised she had leaned in towards the cowering guard's neck, his heartbeat like an erratic drum pumping in her ears. "If I really wanted to leave here, do you really think you'd still have enough breath to scream?"

The guard began to convulse, shaking like cornered prey. It would be so easy. Drain him dry and steal the key, meld into the shadows and leave this city and all those who had wronged her far behind. All she'd have to do is forsake those oaths she'd taken one last time. She could almost feel Morcar mirthfully laughing at the revelation. However, amongst the deadly images which flickered through Aelfwynn's mind, others began to intersperse. Danica. Uthgerd, the expressions on the faces of all her victims as she stripped their lives of all that had given them meaning. _Mara,_ she thought, nothing could be worth all that again.

Aelfwyyn threw the guard backwards, stumbling over the dropped weapons of his fellows and collapsing in a heap on the floor, his helmet rolling along the floor like an iron bucket.

"Best we don't keep the jarl waiting don't you think? Oh, and be careful with that collar, you caught my hair in it last time" Aelfwynn said, not a trace of the prior viciousness sounding in her voice.

The keep was filled with activity as Aelfwynn was taken up towards the great hall. Servants carrying great bushels of arrows hurriedly criss-crossed the corridor, whilst others staggered with great pails of water. Her still shaking guard pulled her past the throne, and up the steep flight of stairs. This room appeared to be some sort of war-chamber. On a desk lay a textured model of Skyrim's holds, marked with red and blue flags. The walls were lined with displayed weapons and shields, interspersed with flowing, colourful banners depicting heroic imagery. The Jarl stood stiffly, addressing one of his guards in a commanding tone. The mage Farengar stood beside the Jarl's Dunmer housecarl, their expressions of wonder and determination clashing against one another. Behind the Jarl himself stood a steel-clad warrior unknown to her, fondling a lock of his long autumn hair around his fingers thoughtfully. As Aelfwynn was lead into the room, the rattling of her long chain caught his attention. His brow furrowed as his smiling eyes flickered between prisoner and captive, his eyes lingering for a few moments on her face before the conversation demanded his attention once more.

"So, you came from the Western Watchtower?" The Jarl asked, the roughness in his voice betraying his recent rousing from sleep. "You saw this 'dragon' with your own eyes?"

"Yes my jarl, it was attacking the watchtower. I've never run so fast in my life…. It moves like it's everywhere at once, and in the darkness arrows are worthless! We have to flee my jarl, mere men cannot stand against such a beast!" The man was clearly on the brink of hysterics.

The Jarl put his hands on the guard's shoulders and looked him straight in the eye.

"Head down to the barracks for some rest, we'll take it from here. You've done well." As the winded guard staggered away, the jarl turned to face the warrior behind him.

"Good of you to have come at such a late hour. There's no time to stand on ceremony my friend, we need your help again. You survived Helgen, and so you have more experience with dragons than anyone else here. Go with Irileth, do what you can to kill this dragon."

Irileth, her eyes fixed on Aelfwynn, interrupted. "My Jarl, may I ask why _**that**_ ," she emphasised, pointing at the prisoner, "has been allowed out of the dungeons?"

Aelfwynn suddenly understood, replying in a resigned voice. "Because if you want to fight a monster, it helps if you have one of your own."

The Jarl regarded her gravely. "Something like that. Sihtric, this is Aelfwynn. She's going with you. I'm betting those vampire eyes will be of some use." He then looked gravely at Aelfwynn. "I don't expect a bloodless battle."

She nodded in understanding. The Jarl walked over to one of the artfully adorned walls, and pulled down an ornate steel longsword. He held it out to Sihtric. "Take my sword, let the beast know that it was one of Whiterun's finest blades which pierced its heart." Turning back to the imprisoned vampire, Balgruuf picked up a folded brown robe from the table. "Here. Those men out there will need courage and reassurance of your skill, so it's best you look the part."

Struggling with the collar around her throat, Aelfwynn changed into what she quickly realised was her old robe, sewed back together presumably at the jarl's instruction. After over a week of humiliating treatment at the hands of the guards, modesty was hardly a pressing concern. As a finishing touch Aelfwynn placed the amulet on the outside, shaking her hand for a moment to dispel the smoke. After a signal from the Jarl, Aelfwynn's uncharacteristically silent guard passed her chain to Sihtric, who approached her curiously. The vampire was at least a foot shorter than the gangly Nord who dwarfed her.

"I always wanted one of these as a boy" Sihtric joked.

Aelfwynn raised her eyebrow sharply, placing her right hand on her hip.

He coughed, clearly embarrassed by his hasty choice of words. "A pet… I meant a pet" He rattled the leash as if to emphasise his point. Aelfwynn turned her head towards the jarl, her eyes questioning.

"You'll be alright. I have faith in you. Both of you, as it happens. So don't let me down."

As the party began to descend the steps in front of Dragonsreach, Sihtric began to engage Aelfwynn in conversation. "When I heard that the jarl was keeping a monstrous beast in his cellar I… well I expected…"

"I'd be taller?" Aelfwynn interrupted, her expression neutral.

He shrugged. "Actually, I was going to say I didn't expect to find you so attractive, but that too"

Aelfwynn gawped at him. It took several tongue-twisted attempts for her to form a coherent retort. "I'm not sure what's worse, the fact that you're flirting with an undead, blood-drinking creature of the night, or that you decided to do it when she's wearing priestess' robes!?"

Sihtric managed to flash her a guilty look, and after the faint shadow of a blush faded from his cheeks, he smoothly diverted the conversation. "I heard your kind live forever. So, you're what, three hundred years old or so?"  
"Actually I'm twenty-five."

"You mean you became a vampire twenty-five years ago?"

"No, I was sired about ten months back. In Windhelm."

"There are worse places I suppose."

"To die?"

"I'm really not making the best first impression here am I?" Sihtric replied, placing his hand on the bridge of his nose and shutting his eyes. Aelfwynn let out a nihilistic chuckle.

"A little rough around the edges if I'm honest. But hey, you're the only one except the jarl whose done anything except threaten, insult, spit at or ignore me so… thanks?" Aelfwynn had meant for it to sound detached, uninterested, but instead her voice had taken on a hurt quality.

His eyes softened for a moment, before restoring his self-mocking façade.

The air was untouched by even the faintest breath of wind. The crackle of the fires which continued to combust the surrounding brush was the only sound, save the heavy breathing of the guards who apprehensively gazed towards the battered and burned watchtower. The would-be dragon-slayers, numbering no more than twenty, gathered behind a small ridge marked by a few large boulders, keeping them out of the watchtower's direct line of sight.

"Alright men, I know it looks bad. But we've got to find out what exactly happened, and if this dragon is still skulking about somewhere" Irileth said, attempting to rouse the skittish soldiers. As Aelfwynn leaned against the boulder, gazing towards the smoking tower, Sihtric crouched down beside her, fingering the handle of the jarl's blade.

"Well vampire girl, see anything?"

"It's hard to see through all the smoke. I'm afraid there are a couple more corpses, they look like they've been charred. There's nothing I can do for them." The smell of charred flesh and burned blood was repulsive, even to a vampire.

"I meant the dragon, leech." Sihtric wiped his brow, the approach of battle clearly heavy on his mind.

Aelfwynn gave him a seething scowl. "Charming. Well, if I happen to see an enormous flying lizard from ancient myth in plain sight, I'll make sure not to overlook it."

He let out a brief chuckle before Irileth's deadly stare silenced him.

"Spread out, but be careful, it may still be flying around somewhere." Irileth whispered, before drawing her elegant longsword and leaping over the crest of the boulders. Sihtric swore under his breath before leaping to follow her. A few moments later Aelfwynn was dragged by the neck over the ridge, her companion apparently having forgotten he was still holding her leash. Silently leaping to her feet and brushing herself off, Aelfwynn began to survey the area. The gold-clad guards had split up into a loose arrowhead formation, tentatively approaching the watchtower.

Something nagged at the back of Aelfwynn's mind. The hairs on her neck began to rise with a sudden chill, long after she had believed herself incapable of feeling the cold. Suddenly, Aelfwynn's instinctually lifted her head and gazed towards the crest of the tower. The smoke engulfed the top third of the tower like a suspended yet turbulent ocean, obscuring any clear view. Yet for some reason Aelfwynn could not tear her eyes away.

Sihtric, upon feeling the resistance on the chain he tightly gripped, looked back at his charge. Her focused yet fear-stricked expression told him all he needed to know. If a vampire, a nocturnal predator looked like the rabbit does just before the fox pounces there was no doubt about it. He drew his sword and followed her gaze. Two great orange orbs, a single black slit at their centre suddenly pierced the smoke sea. The silhouette of a great tail curled around the circumference of the tower, and a great pair of jaws began to widen as if in a terrible grin.  
"GET DOWN!" Sihtric yelled to the guards all around them, waving his arms and pointing towards the revealed dragon.

 _FUS RO DAH!_

A terrible force erupted from the beast's maw, ripping plants out of the undergrowth, tearing cobbles from the well beaten road, and sending men, weapons and shields flying in all directions. There were terrible cracking and scorching sounds as the guards' bodies collided with the tower, the earth, or passed through one of the many pyres which still burned all around them. Sihtric plunged his longsword into the turf, gripping the handle with both hands as his body was lifted off the ground by the colossal force, leaving him hanging from his blade like a flag in a gale. Aelfwynn, her chain ripped from her captor's grip by the same force, dug her hands into the earth, desperately trying to prevent herself being thrown across the vale as the iron collar crushed her throat.

After an almost amused growl, the dragon began to scuttle down the walls of the road tower like some great insect, balancing itself by spreading its wings at full-sail. The earth seemed to shake as the beast released its claws from the stones of the structure and collided with the soft earth. The scaly behemoth looked positively demonic as the orange light of the surrounding fires reflected of its thick hide. Suddenly, from behind a fallen tower block, Irileth slashed at the dragon's shoulder with a throaty war cry. In response those few guards that were still able quickly fumbled to load their bows, beginning to launch arrows at the shadowed form of the grounded beast. Whilst many merely bounced off the dragon, a few found their mark, protruding from its wings and neck. The dragon seemed little more than inconvenienced by the wounds, almost appearing to be energised by the challenge. A terrible, guttural voice emerged from the it's jaws, rough like an avalanche and deep as thunder.

 _So, your kind has spirit after all. I will give you worthy deaths. May the flames be felt in Sovngard!_

The beast's throat began to glow with several orange hues, then a torrent of furious flame emerged, blackening the earth and causing the very air to vibrate with overwhelming energy. Three men were instantly incinerated, for a moment they screamed in agony, but they were dust in the wind before they finished their cry.

Aelfwynn was sickened by the display. How could she have any purpose as a healer when this monster left nothing to repair? Moreover, how could Balgruuf have ever expected her and Sihtric to turn the tide on such an unstoppable force? Speaking of the Nord, Sihtric had yanked his borrowed blade out of the ground and taken a position opposite Irileth on the other side of the beast, slashing at its body whilst parrying its claws and teeth. Aelfwynn cast a scarlet bolt of fear and the creature, but the magic seemed to dissipate just as it tried to take hold. This creature was no base animal, nor as malleable as the mortal mind. It had an ancient, malicious intelligence which was too complex for her vampiric illusion magicks to manipulate.

Suddenly, the dragon got the upper hand. Irileth was sent tumbling backwards by a blow from one of its wings, smacking into the side of the watchtower and collapsing, winded and bruised. Sihtric did his best to deflect the dragon's advancing attack, however it managed to catch his blade between its fangs, casting it several feet to the side before wrenching Sihtric in its jaws, shaking him like a rag and throwing him back towards Aelfwynn. She got the impression the dragon was merely toying with its prey. Seeing the dragon was once again preparing itself for another bout of breathing fire, Aelfwynn threw herself atop Sihtric's prostrate form, raising the most powerful ward she could muster. A transparent force poured from Aelfwynn's hands surrounding the two of them in a protective aura, which was then swiftly engulfed by the force of the flame. The air within the ward began to rapidly heat, and beads of sweat began to cover Sihtric's bleeding body. Yet the ward held.

The dragon-fire subsided several seconds later, and taking advantage of the beast's belief they had been incinerated, Aelfwynn dragged Sihtric's body across the scorched plain, before picking him up and sprinting into confines of the lower watchtower. Laying him against the wall, she made a quick examination of his wounds. He was lucky. The dragon's teeth had missed his most vital organs, though the bleeding had to be stemmed quickly. Aelfwynn was swiftly reminded that she had not fed in a day. As the roaring of the dragon drew closer, Aelfwynn poured her healing magic into Sihtric's chest. Patching him up wouldn't be enough, if they were both going to survive this she needed Sihtric at full strength. She just had to prevent herself collapsing from exhaustion. The warrior was positively glowing with golden light as Aelfwynn pulled away, suddenly dizzy and disorientated by the energy drain.

Sihtric exhaled forcefully, his eyes widening in amazement as the rejuvenation took hold. "Hey bloodsucker, you don't look so good."

Aelfwynn had one hand against the tower wall, leaning unsteadily. It felt as though her stomach was tied in knots, and the world all seemed to be spiralling away from her. She knew any moment the dragon's eye would veer in front of the tower entrance, with its terrible malice. _Hang on_ , Aelfwynn thought. _The Eyes!_ Remembering the spell from Danica's tome, she attempted to gather her strength.

Sihtric appeared to see the revelation in her eyes, and spread his arms in a shrug. "You got an idea? Mine was just to run out there and try and kill it again, but if you've got something better than by all means."

It would have been different if she had fed properly. As it was, Aelfwynn had been irregularly fed animal blood, which had done little more than keep her alive. She tried to summon the magical energies, but little more than erratic sparks flickered between her pale fingers. She looked at Sihtric. "I can't… I need…" she couldn't bring herself to admit it so bluntly.

"Blood." Sihtric finished. He looked around at the charred skeletons within the tower chamber and the corpses outside. "Looks like there's no choice." He pulled a dagger from his belt, and before Aelfwynn could voice the protest written into her rose coloured eyes, Sihtric made a cut into his left forearm. She backed away as he approached.

"Please, don't. Don't make me drink. Just this once I want to show you, all of you, Irileth, the Jarl, I can be more to you than just a monster."

He held his arm to her parted lips, and unable to stop herself Aelfwynn immersed herself in the life-giving vitae. Sihtric placed her head under his chin. "I knew that the moment I saw you" he whispered in an almost haunted voice, not knowing if she heard over the need which clamped her to him.

First Aelfwynn was contented merely to lap up the blood, but for every drop drank, she felt she needed more. His blood was potent, there was power in it. It was when her fangs pieced Sihtric's arm and the flow increased that he finally tore her off his arm. Scrunching his eyes from the pain a moment, Sihtric saw the change. Aelfwynn's eyes had changed from a soft pink to a piercing red, and the trail of blood ran freely down her chin, dripping onto the stony floor. As her eyes met Sihtric's he could not help but notice the betrayed look in her eyes.

"Get behind me." Aelfwynn said simply, striding towards the tower entrance. The dragon was chewing on the corpse of one of the fallen guards, before swallowing it whole. Noticing their approach, it began to claw itself rapidly towards Aelfwynn and Sihtric. Aelfwynn lifted her arms, uplifting her palms to the sky. She began to softly mouth an incantation, turning her palms again to face the advancing dragon. Bursts of blinding light shone from Aelfwynn's outstretched hands, precisely focused on the dragon's eyes. The creature shrieked, showing what could only be bare agony for the first time during the onslaught, and began to stagger unevenly in their direction, far less evenly than before. Sihtric saw his opportunity, whilst the startled dragon still writhed in the pain of its sudden blindness, Sihtric grabbed the jarl's sword from the blackened grass and with one smooth movement, plunged the blade deep into the beast's eye.

The dragon recoiled in shock.

 _Dovahkiin?! Nooooo!_

After a series of rapid convulsions, the scaled cadaver stiffened, fell to the earth with a great crash and moved no more.

For a moment all sound seemed to fade from the world, even the crackle of the still spreading fires seemed to fall silent. Then a great sound like a wind rushing through a narrow valley emanated from the dead dragon's corpse. Ethereal strands of white light poured out, illuminating the dark night air before focusing flowing into the armoured form of Sihtric, infusing him with its energy. Aelfwynn stood in awe as a couple strands seemed to linger around her as if confused, before resuming their course and flowing into the slender, auburn-haired Nord.

After a few moments, the haggard survivors began to emerge from amongst the ruined tower blocks and from concealed within the blasted heath. Aelfwynn felt a pang in her chest when she realised only a handful of the two dozen or so men who had bravely defied the dragon's wrath had survived. One of them limped over towards Sihtric, his leg clearly having been slashed by the beast's claws.

"I-I can't believe it. You're… Dragonborn!"

"Dragonborn?" Aelfwynn interjected, "What do you mean?"

"Those born with the dragon blood in them, like ol' Tiber Septim himself." The guard answered, crossing his arms in contempt at the vampire's ignorance, and apparently, the realisation of her survival. He turned back to Sihtric. "In the oldest tales, back when there were still dragons in Skyrim, the dragonborn would kill dragons and steal their power. That's what you did, isn't it? Absorbed that dragon's power?"

"I think you may be right…" Sihtric replied quietly, clenching his fists repeatedly as if feeling the power coursing through him.

Another guard raised his bloodied arm. "I never heard of Tiber Septim killing any dragons…"

"There weren't any dragons then idiot, this is the first time they've come back in… forever!" the first exclaimed, waving his arms emphatically. "Well, there's only one way to find out. Try to shout. Only the dragonborn can shout without training, like the dragons do."

"Right then…" Sihtric murmured, turning to find a likely target. The surviving guards quickly bolted out of his line of sight as he did so. He inhaled deeply.

 _FUS!_

The word erupted from his throat with ruthless abandon, forming a cyclone of force in the air ahead of him. Aelfwynn expected Sihtric to fly backwards from the immense force he had released, yet he stood firm. The grasses flattened from the power of the Dragonborn's voice, whilst a scorched and bare tree split in two with a hollow crack.

"The Thu'um!" The excitable guard with the limp shouted gleefully "He summons the Thu'um! That settles it. You must be Dragonborn.

Another guard cleared his throat. "Irileth, you've been very quiet. What do you think of this 'Dragonborn' business?"

"I think you lot would be better off not flapping your gums about things you know nothing about." Irileth replied bitterly, clearly dismayed by the terrible cost of this victory. "Here's a dead dragon. That's something I understand. I don't need any mythical 'Dragonborn', someone who can put down a dragon is enough for me." She turned to Sihtric. "Get back to Whiterun and tell the Jarl what happened here." She gave Aelfwynn a cold stare. "Take _that_ with you. It'll be no use to the dead, and I'll be damned if I let it mutilate their remains."

Aelfwynn began to shake with a righteous anger. _How dare she?_ After she had risked everything to help kill the dragon, if anything she had been more at risk to being destroyed by its flames. After she had saved their precious Dragonborn's life and been crucial in killing the monster. After she had embraced that part of herself she despised more than anything to try and snatch victory from the dragon's jaws. Sihtric could see Aelfwynn about to explode, and quickly picked up her chain lying in the dirt and started to guide her away from the cold Dunmer. Aelfwynn eyes were focused on her enemy, her fangs scraping her pale skin.

"Don't" Sihtric whispered in her ear. "She's being callous, and cruel yes, but there's something you're not thinking about."

Aelfwynn turned to him questioningly.

"She's just lost almost all of the men under her command. In Skyrim, your soldiers are as good as your brothers. They count on you to get them through the mission alive, and that's no small burden. That grief when you fail is worse than if you died yourself." His eyes grew distant as he spoke. "I've seen how their treatment of you tears you up inside, but the Jarl is a good man. He's going to reward you for all your good deeds, and then their opinion of you doesn't seem so important huh?"

Aelfwynn shook her head, the hatred passing behind her eyes. "Thanks. I… I didn't see." She took a moment to regain her composure. "We'd better get moving. It'll be dawn before too long, and I've come far too close to becoming a pile of ash tonight as it is."

As they approached the welcoming gates of Whiterun, a thunderclap seemed to roar of the mountains to the south. A single, strange word seemed to be audible amongst the noise.

 _DO-VAH-KIIN!_

Aelfwynn couldn't help but shiver as the only vaguely human voices washed over her. She shared a brief glance with Sihtric, but no words were spoken as they continued to make their way into the waiting city. Dragonsreach was swiftly saturated with the murmurings of excited conversation as the jarl and his court saw Sihtric and his chained companion entering the great hall. The Jarl rose and clapped Sihtric on the shoulders.

"We could see the flames from here, tell me my friend, what happened?"

"The watchtower was mostly destroyed my jarl, but we killed the dragon. I'm sorry to say our losses were… severe."

"I see. Irileth?"

"Alive and well my Jarl, however she wanted to see to the fallen personally."

He nodded curtly in understanding. "But there must be more to it than that."

"Yes, well… it seems I may be something called 'Dragonborn'"

He seemed taken aback by that. "What do you know about the Dragonborn?"

"When the dragon died, I absorbed some kind of power from it. Suddenly, the thu'um came to me, as easily as if I had always known it."

"So… the greybeards really were summoning you."

The Jarl exhaled in a resigned sigh. "Now for the other piece of business. Vampire. Your kind are an evil blight on our land, who have laid low many of our finest sons and daughters in recent days. Despite your recent assistance during your capture, and in light of the murder of at least one of our most beloved citizens, I must hereby sentence you to death."


	13. Chapter 13: Honour and Duty

Chapter 13: Honour and Duty

To the great surprise of the Jarl's court, Aelfwynn burst into a fit of empty laughter. It was a rich, yet hollow sound that bounced off the great arching wooden pillars which outlined the hall. It brought a chill to the spines of many of those who gathered. "So, 'my Jarl'. In your unquestionable wisdom you've used me. Your words about monsters, your faith in me were all meaningless. I was just a tool to further your own ends, and when I ran out of clear uses you sent me out there to die. I'm sorry my survival is so inconvenient. I'm sorry I believed you were a man of honour!"

The Jarl's expression was as stony as the arch of Solitude. "Take her away."

As several guards began to drag her towards the dungeons Aelfwynn struggled in frustration. "He was right, right about all of you… you mortals!" As she was pulled through the doorway, she caught a final glimpse of Sihtric beginning to converse animatedly with the Jarl, whose face remained cold and unreadable, giving no trace of his true feelings.

After being cast into the cell, her leash chained to the wall, Aelfwynn leaned against the cold stone. Placing her head in her hands, she slid down to a sitting position. This was her own fault. After the dragon was killed, she should have simply melted into the night, left Whiterun, Sihtric and the Jarl far behind. Instead, she'd ignored her instincts. She'd allowed herself to think like Aelfwynn, priestess of Mara, the idealistic girl who had left Daggerfall all that time ago, rather than the hated and feared creature she had become. She had trusted them. She had trusted that if she proved herself more than the sum of her monstrous parts she could somehow be forgiven- or at least vindicated. That perhaps if she pushed through the hunger, the mistreatment she might be able to walk in their world again.

Aelfwynn placed her treasured amulet on the floor before her. "What do you want from me?" She asked it aloud. "I have tried so hard to do your will, to do what's right, but it just ends up making things worse! Why would you bring me back, return part of what I was if only to see me killed? Perhaps I was wrong. Maybe this is my punishment, to die realising everything I'd done, and what I've become. I wonder if its too late to devote myself to Stendarr…"

The amulet said nothing, the blue gem at its centre preferring to stare upwards accusingly. After a few minutes of mutual stubborn silence, a faint light began to shine into the sparsely furnished cell through the minute, barred window, casting a cold glow onto the foot of the hay sleeping spot provided. Aelfwynn retracted her legs towards the corner still heavily masked in shadow, and began to ponder on when she began to fear something as right and natural as daylight.

"My Jarl, I beg you to reconsider" Sihtric pleaded, as the realisation of what had just transpired took hold. "I know, she's a vampire. But I'd be cinders if it wasn't for Aelfwynn, and that Dragon may well have razed the city let alone the watchtower without her bravery!"

"Enough!" The Jarl interrupted "The decision has been made, and it is final." He turned to his steward. "Proventus, please take care of things for a while, I need to have words with the Dragonborn here."

"Of course, Jarl Balgruuf." Proventus Avenicci straightened his posture, in his mind clearly cloaked in his new short-lived authority.

The Jarl began to briskly stride towards the stairs behind the throne. "Walk with me" he said, beckoning Sihtric to follow. Once they were alone in the Jarl's war-room, Balruuf turned to face his new champion. "I apologise for the display out there. Troubled times force hard decisions on men."

"You mean, she's not to be killed?"

"You misunderstand. She has to be killed, in spite of what you or any of us might feel."

"That's madness. There's no honour in it my Jarl! You've spent time with her, seen who she is, she's no more a monster than I am, than you are."

The Jarl's jaw stiffened. "Shortly after I ordered you to the Western Watchtower, two of my top men were found cowering in the kitchens. It took nearly an hour to bring them out of their hysterics, and when they finally recovered to the point they could explain their actions they told me. Told me how our tame vampire could twist their minds and provoke complete terror in them without even leaving her cell."

"Perhaps they were mistreating her, she's had it pretty rough these last…"

The Jarl cut him off. "Damnit man, you're letting your feelings cloud your judgement! Perhaps if you'd seen that creature when she hasn't been fed blood from the carrion from my kitchens, like a vision from a fevered nightmare, longing to drain your life - you'd get some perspective! Do you really think I can justify keeping a vampire in my dungeons who can it seems, bypass her guard any time she becomes irritated? Have you given any thought to how the people would respond? They're hurting Sihtric, and a display of justice may be all that stands between utter despair or open revolt. I will not let Whiterun tear itself apart for the sake of one vampire!" He smashed his fist down on the table, knocking over the flag markers which centred on every major capital and fort in Skyrim. Jarl Balgruuf paused for breath, his face red from the outburst. "Pray that you never have the burden that comes with this station my friend. To both claim to be a man of honour and a ruler is to keep the responsibilities which come with each far apart. As a man I believe that Aelfwynn is no monster. But as Jarl I cannot spare her life, you understand me boy?"

The younger man nodded, his face pensive.

"I see that you do. In happier news, after much consideration we would be honoured to name you as Thane of Whiterun Dragonborn. Do you accept?"

Sihtric dropped to one knee. "I will try to prove myself worthy of the honour my Jarl."

"Rise my friend. I assign you Lydia as your personal Housecarl, and please, keep my sword as a badge of your station. I'll also notify the guards of your new position, wouldn't want you to be mistaken for one of the common rabble, eh?"

"Thank you, Jarl Balgruuf."

"Now, having taken for granted all you have done for me, is there anything further I can do in return?"

Sihtric thought for a moment, his pensive expression changing into a smile echoed by a gleam in his emerald eyes. "Well my Jarl, there was one thing."

"Name it."

"I wondered if you might put a word in for me at Jorrvaskr."

"The Companions? Now there's a noble path friend. I'll see if we can't have a word with Kodlak Whitemane, he and I have known each other a long time."

After a while, Aelfwynn got tired of the waiting, and approached the bars of her cage. Two guards stood leaning against the opposite wall. "Excuse me, guards?"

"What do you want, scum?" the left guard with a thick Nordic accent answered.

Aelfwynn bit her lip. "I just wondered if you could tell me where and when they plan to execute me."

The right guard decided to chip in. "Heard those upstairs have been petitioning the jarl, all sending in their suggestions"

"What's the best so far?" the first guard laughed.

"Chaining it to the Statue of Talos before dawn and leaving it out for the sunrise wasn't bad."

"Any others?"

"Lighting a Pyre on the Skyforge was pretty popular. Dragonbait just seemed impractical."

"You're right there."

"I tell you one thing though, you'd think half the city guard barely had a brain between them, but I'm amazed by their creativity when it comes for finding ways for vampires to die."

When the two men finally stopped their raucous banter however, they turned to find an empty cell sitting before them. The first guard ran to the cell door and began to fumble with his keys, however the second one slapped his arm.

"Don't open the cage idiot, she could still be in there, ready to jump you!"

"Ah, good point. What do we do?"

"Tell the Jarl, tell Commander Caius, tell Heimskr for all I care, lets go!"

The first guard positioned his hand to place the keys on his belt as he turned, yet failed to note that they remained hovering motionless in the air as he and his partner sprinted from the room.

Aelfwynn had never trained as a thief. In all honesty, the skill-set and world-view of a thief couldn't be further from her chosen profession. Her mortal life had been dedicated to walking in the light, serving others before thinking of herself, and never opting to pick the invisible locks which chained her to her path. However, becoming a vampire changed things. Not only did being a creature of the night allow Aelfwynn to detect the heartbeats, smell the blood of any approaching mortal, but also gave her the ability to naturally meld with shadows, as well as reflexes and dexterity completely unknown to her before. Though she was now loathe to admit it, she still found her undead prowess somewhat liberating.

"All too easy." Aelfwynn said, as the shadows around her dissipated, evaporating like a thousand dark rivers flowing into the air. "Sorry to abandon your hospitality so abruptly Jarl Balgruuf, but I've got somewhere to be. Dimhollow Crypt as it happens." Quickly turning the key, Aelfwynn stealthily unlocked her leash and cell door, before cautiously moving from the room, all senses alert for signs of life. As she heard four blood pumping hearts heading towards her, she vanished behind the shadow of a doorway, waiting until the clattering guards ran past her before silently slipping through. Still palming the gullible guard's keys, she made her way over to the large iron-bound chest clearly marked 'evidence locker'. Aelfwynn was pleased to find her original belongings scattered messily inside. Slipping the map into Danica's satchel, her eyes caught for a moment on a black object within the chest. Her old vampire armour sat crumpled within the chest. Aelfwynn must have unconsciously taken it with her upon rushing to leave Broken Fang Cave. After a moment trapped by indecision, Aelfwynn grabbed the armour, gloves, boots and black hood and continued her unseen rise through the dungeons of Dragonsreach. There were a couple of close calls. As she rose through the palace, the number of heartbeats reached the point where detecting where a single mortal was becoming extraordinarily difficult. On a couple of occasions Aelfwynn turned a corner too quickly, the guards managing to catch a glimpse of her before she managed to dissolve into the shadows which lay just outside every torch's reach.

 _Where am I going?_ Aelfwynn thought to herself. If she left Dragonsreach now she had possibly a few seconds before she began to combust, and her robes would be entirely insufficient protection. She needed help. She quickly realised there was only one person who would likely show her a single shred of sympathy.

Sparks flew from clashing blades in the courtyard outside Jorrvaskr. After the Harbinger had asked Vilkas to test the newcomer's skill at arms, he had expected to block a few inelegant blows before swiftly disarming him of weapon and pride. After all, Vilkas had never even heard of this outsider, whether he was 'dragonborn' or not. The companions were no ordinary group of sell-swords to take in any Nord in search of drinking money, Torvar was bad enough. In reality the two warriors were strangely matched by their vastly differing techniques. Vilkas focused on a firm stance and powerful strokes with his sword, whilst intermittently using his shield to prevent his opponent ever launching a solid blow before attempting to knock them off-balance. This 'Sihtric' however, had a comparatively alien fighting style. He refused to take the shield offered to him, preferring to parry oncoming blows with his ornate steel longsword, before landing whip-like blows to knock Vilkas' blade to the side before launching several slashes and thrusts of his own . Despite being encased in steel, the man moved like he was wearing the flimsiest cloth. Every time Vilkas attempted to land a crushing blow, rather than attempting to parry or absorb the blow Sihtric would side-step the attack entirely, causing Vilkas' momentum to nearly trip himself up, before striking at his armoured back almost mockingly. This strategy was causing Vilkas to become more and more aggravated as the fight lingered, whereas Sihtric by contrast had an unmistakeable grin on his face, revelling in the thrill of the challenge. As they fought, the scattered comrades of Ysgramor slowly began to pour into the courtyard, intrigued by the ringing timbre of battle. Kodlak himself sat expressionless on one of wooden chairs, eyeing the warriors carefully.

Vilkas had only intended to observe the man's form for a few moments, to check for potential, however he had led the perceived arrogance of his opponent to get to him. With every exchange the attacks were getting more ferocious, and it seemed as if this escalating battle could only end in bloodshed. However, the advantage of an extended fight was that an experienced warrior like Vilkas could begin to see the patterns forming in Sihtric's movements. Once again Vilkas raised his sword to launch an enormous blow towards Sihtric's sword-arm, however just as he began to move to the side, Vilkas re-directed his momentum, tripping Sihtric with his leg before resting the tip of his skyforge steel blade against his fallen opponent's neck. Sihtric's own blade had skittered along the stones of the courtyard. The crowd of companions who had been spellbound by the intensity of the dual fell silent. Kodlak rose to his feet. Vilkas and Sihtric exchanged stares for a moment, before Vilkas slowly withdrew his sword.

"You might just make it" he said, holding out his arm to Sihtric. He took it and pulled himself to his feet. Kodlak began to applaud the two warriors, and the other onlookers swiftly followed suit. Vilkas and Sihtric shared a slightly sheepish glance, as if until now they had been completely unaware of the world and gathered crowd outside of their conflict.

Sihtric caught Kodlak's gaze, a brisk nod passing between them, the line of sight was broken as a wild-looking woman approached the two armoured warriors, her gait seeming to exude a sense of power and self-certainty. "So," she began, "made it up to Jorrvaskr after all eh?" Sihtric recognised the striking huntress almost immediately. They had met a few days previously, on his first arrival in Whiterun. In hindsight, encountering a giant threatening the outside of the city seemed like a portent of things to come, and one of the pinnacle encounters which had defined the exhausting series of events that had occurred since that day Sihtric had gotten involved at Darkwater Crossing. Her blue-streaked face looked then just as it did now, a challenge burning in her grey eyes.

"That I did Aela, sorry it took me so long. Local affairs kept me busy for a while."

She guffawed at that. "So, you obviously don't care for boasting. Perhaps a man of action then? Can't say any of these milk-drinkers would sum up dragon-slaying so modestly."

Vilkas scoffed good naturedly. "Hmph, you think so little of the rest of us?"

She smiled mischievously in response. "I know that half of you would rather rest on your haunches drinking mead and telling stories than be out there, chasing the prey…" She looked back to Sihtric. "So, you think you could handle Vilkas here in a real fight?"

Sihtric coughed. "A 'real' fight?" He looked back to Vilkas. "What fight was she watching?"

Vilkas shrugged in response. Sihtric turned back to see Aela smiling broadly at him. Some ancient instinct told him to start running. Luckily, an avenue for escape presented itself when a wheezing guard ran into the courtyard, his chest heaving. "Dragonborn, I've been sent by the Jarl to tell you that…" he gulped. "The prisoner is gone. Escaped shortly after dawh, the city may not be safe!" The man was clearly distraught with panic. Sihtric made a show of moving his head back to look towards the unobscured sun, before looking at the guard once more, pointing one figure upwards.

The message took a moment to penetrate the fear that cloaked him. "Ah. Well… she may still be stalking the palace. Be careful all the same thane."

He nodded. "Thank you soldier."

Turning back to the two companions, Sihtric quickly made his excuses, with promises to undertake the work offered to him by the Companions as soon as the current matter was resolved. For now he had something more crucial to attend to. He picked up his sword from the ground. A matter of honour and duty.


	14. Chapter 14: Different Worlds

Chapter 14: Different Worlds

Aelfwynn watched from the shadows as Sihtric shut the door behind him. This wing of the palace had seemingly been designed to house visiting dignitaries, and as a result each of these bedchambers had a grand opulence about them. The wooden floor was covered with an exquisite rug, coloured with a combination of blue and gold thread that appeared to be in the Cyrodiilic style. The four-poster bed was carved in ornate woods, with elegant green sheets sitting pleasantly inside. Behind the bed were long vertical stained glass windows shaped in columns of colourless diamonds, causing light to filter through the diamond pattern and into the room. Other grand furnishings, such as wardrobes and drawers as well as a desk adorned with quill, inkwell and parchment gave the room a homely quality. He walked to the side table by the bed immediately, partially filled a waiting goblet with alto wine and took a deep gulp. "It made sense you'd come here" Sihtric said, taking a moment to wipe his mouth with his armoured sleeve.

"Where else could I go?" Aelfwynn answered, stepping out of the wardrobe's shadow, clutching the arm of her robe, her eyes cast downwards. She took care to avoid the threatening beams of gentle daylight.

"Strange though, I always thought all these rooms look the same. Did you know this was mine or did you pick one at random and hope I would turn up? Or have you jumped out at several haughty nobles already and scared them half to death? I'm hoping the latter personally, much more amusing."

Aelfwynn was slightly irritated by Sihtric's apparent attempt to make light of her predicament. "Well, as it turns out you have a very particular scent 'dragonborn'." She placed her hands on her hips in a defiant manner. He looked almost hurt for a moment.

"So thane, are you here to deliver me to your upstanding Jarl, or just kill me on the spot? Oh yes, the servants and guards have been gossiping throughout the halls about your latest promotion. At least, between speculating on how they plan to kill me." Aelfwynn's eyes were guarded as she spoke. Despite the harsh quality in her tone, her manner gave the impression of someone barely holding it together. "I imagine it would solidify your new position as court favourite if you did it yourself, ended all the Jarl's problems with the troublesome vampire!"

"Have you finished?" Sihtric replied, in a faux-bored voice. "I mean if you've still got several more accusations to throw at me I'll wait, but if we want to get you out of the city the day is wearing on. I might be missed." An impossible hope dawned in Aelfwynn.

"That's right leech, I'm going to rescue you. I'm rather offended you thought otherwise."

Aelfwynn was not overly impressed with Sihtric's rescue attempt. She found his 'cunning master plan' - as he put it - sorely lacking, not to mention uncomfortable. After vanishing from the room for nearly an hour, he returned with a guard carrying what appeared to be a large travel-chest. After dismissing the guard, Sihtric began to explain his scheme with glee, energetically pacing the room as he did so. His plan rested on the fact that he was expected to transfer his belongings from his temporary accommodations in Dragonsreach down to Jorrvaskr, where he had recently been accepted as a companion – at least until his trial decided whether that arrangement would be permanent.

So Aelfwynn found herself lying inside an enormous pine-wood trunk, arms rattling against discarded pieces of armour, bumping her head against worn volumes and rustling her fingers through spare leather strips. The addition of her own possessions certainly didn't help, and to add insult to injury her amulet kept slipping upwards to scald her face. If Frieda could see her now… well that just couldn't be bourne. It seemed odd to Aelfwynn that she should think of her former friend now of all times. Up until now she had tried to pretend as if her former coven had never existed, but she had seen the disastrous result of that. Frieda must have sensed the change in her almost immediately, and her sire had clearly demonstrated his determination to keep her. It struck her that wherever it seemed she turned lately there were men with power determined to control her. Morcar, the Jarl, even this mysterious 'Harkon' whom the former had mentioned with such dripping contempt. Even now, as she was carried in the darkness of this rickety box, her life was entirely in the hands of Sihtric, this warrior who had come bombastically into her life and seemingly refused to abandon her when all others had. Despite his apparent faith in her however, Aelfwynn still resented this series of dependent, controlling associations. _After escaping Whiterun things will be different_ , she thought to herself, yet deep down she wondered if that could ever be true for a sired vampire.

Eventually she felt the front of the chest drop roughly to the floor, only for it to be picked up again a moment later, someone else going by the smell. An odd smell. Aelfwynn breathed in more deeply. Yes, there were certainly something more than human going on here. The blood, it smelled almost like that of another vampire, but different, more… animalistic?

"New blood? Oh I remember you. Come on, follow me." He grunted with effort. "Ysgramor, what do you keep in this thing?"

"The consequence of being paid in arms Farkas…"

"Ha. I see that. Nice to have a new face around by the way, gets boring here sometimes. I hope we keep you, this can be a rough life."

"Wasn't too easy before I came here either, trust me."

"Hmph. The quarters are up here, just pick a bed and fall in it when you're tired. Tilma will keep the place clean, she always has."

Aelfwynn's head smacked against the lid of the chest as it was firmly dropped, then briefly dragged along the floor.

"All right, here we are. Looks like the others are eager to meet you. Come to me or Aela if you're looking for work. Once you've made a bit of a name for yourself, Skjor and Vilkas might have things for you to do."

"Wouldn't want to let Vilkas down, now would we? Still itching for a rematch."

Aelfwynn rolled her eyes, the word 'Nords' once again forming on her lips.

"Heh. Watch it new blood, you got lucky up there in the courtyard. My brother is not to be trifled with. Anyway, good luck. Welcome to the Companions."

Aelfwynn's mood continued to sour as Sihtric burst into conversation with two female voices. One was challenging and disdainful, the other soaring and enthusiastic. After the introductions, one of them appeared to leave, whilst the other woman, 'Ria' apparently, continued to talk to Sihtric.

"I killed a bear yesterday! Did you kill anything?"

 _Wonderful._ Aelfwynn thought, _Nords really have a wonderful range of conversation topics._ It was like Uthgerd all over again. She felt a pang of guilt for thinking ill of the deceased.

"Well actually Ria…"

 _Oh he isn't. Please Mara tell me isn't!_

"You heard about that dragon which attacked the Western Watchtower? Well as it turns out I was the one who…"

Suddenly a large thump came from the chest as Aelfwynn kicked the inside wall.

"Did that come from your chest?"

"Umm, I think a helmet just fell over, things got jostled about on the way over here I guess"

"So you were saying, you killed the dragon?"

Aelfwynn glanced through the keyhole of the chest, only to see Sihtric nervously glancing at the box.

"Well… modesty forbids if I'm honest Ria. I had a lot of help from the Whiterun guards for example, they did not for one moment flinch in fear from the beast…"

Another kick.

Through the keyhole Aelfwynn could see Ria start to approach the chest. Perhaps she had gone a little far here.

"Have you managed to get a baby skeever locked in there or something? Maybe we should have a look."

Sihtric quickly moved in front of her. "Really, its nothing. Oh, and I've left out one of the most important parts! The dragon had me gripped in its jaws, shook me like a dog shakes its toy, and threw me to the ground. I would have been incinerated by its breath, if it weren't for the brave priestess who threw herself on me and used magic to deflect the flames.. She saved my life and made it possible for me to slay the beast!"

There was silence for a moment. "Wasn't that priestess a chained-up vampire?"

"Well… Nobody's perfect."

Aelfwynn overheard a variety of interesting conversations as the afternoon wore on. Sometimes the enhanced hearing of the undead was hardly a blessing. In what Morcar would surely insist on calling her 'prodigy' days, such a skill was invaluable. To be able to lie in wait, hear all of a family's dirty secrets and then begin to devise how to tear them apart by exploiting them. Turning loved ones against each other without ever having to expose fang or raise claw was what Wynn and her sire had seen as the height of vampiric finesse. The kill still had its place of course. Even so, a feeding should never be a wasted opportunity to add to the distrust, chaos and terror that her coven had already spent so much effort bringing about. Aelfwynn was rather disturbed that a distinct part of her still regarded these memories as 'nostalgic'.

She was coming to realise that despite her epiphany in Broken Fang Cave all those nights ago, the sadistic monster was still lingering beneath the surface, and on occasion had dominated her decisions. The image of the guard cowering before her whilst his friends ran in terror rose to the forefront of her mind. Was Morcar right? Did her sadism, her evil during those months come from her own feelings of rejection, hatred and need for recognition, or was it just his own need to believe that there was someone else just as twisted as him? The more worrying notion was that 'Wynn' had truly been the development of the true her, and her current state was only the result of Mara's influence. _Too many dangerous questions_ Aelfwynn thought, and she had little doubt that the answers were worse.

This pervading melancholy still dominated Aelfwynn's thoughts when she heard the key turning in the lock beside her, and a moment later torchlight shone into her eyes from the room above. She made an attempt to appear collected and dignified, despite her snow-kissed hair having been thoroughly ruffled by the movement of the chest, only further accentuated by the crumpling of her tan robe. She could see Sihtric struggling to suppress a wisecrack or raucous guffaw, but his eyes were already laughing at her.

"I'll bite you."

"Revered child of Mara, what a thing to suggest!" He whispered comically, leaning in closer.

Her warning didn't appear to have helped. As she shoved him aside and clambered out of the over-sized box, Sihtric explained the situation in a series of muffled whispers. "A fist-fight's broken out between Njada Stone-arm and some elf upstairs. If anything's going to hold the attention of a bunch of half-drunk warriors, it's a good fight."

"I remember that well enough. What's the daylight situation?"

"About 45 minutes past sunset. Shouldn't your kind be able to smell the night coming or something?"

Aelfwynn let that pass.

As the two of them ascended the wooden stairs of Jorrvaskr's mead hall, Aelfwynn noticed that there were few shadows in the hearth and torch-lit room, and certainly none that Aelfwynn could use to pass unnoticed. She paused for a moment in uncertainty. Sihtric, noticing her hesitance turned and gave her a half-smile that seemed to ask her to trust him. She positioned herself between Sihtric and the outer wall of the mead hall, donning her hood to minimise attention. The Companions of Jorrvaskr were almost entirely gathered on the city-facing half of the mead hall, alternately shouting encouragements and taunts to the Dunmer and Nord locked in brutal battle near the doors. The heat of the crackling hearth, whilst nearly two metres away, caused Aelfwynn to shrink away instinctually. She thought it might just be the tension of the moment, but Aelfwynn could have sworn she felt a pair of eyes on them as they quietly passed through the outer doors opposite the animated crowd of armoured warriors.

The courtyard was sleeping. The chairs sat emptily at their tables, and even the great eagle which perched over the Skyforge gave the impression of roost. Sihtric quickly grabbed Aelfwynn's hand and pulled her over to one of the small outcroppings covered by a small wooden canopy, which periodically marked the defences of Whiterun's gradually crumbling walls.

"Clamber over the ridge, get a good grip on the stones and lower yourself down. We have a short while until one of the guards decides to patrol up this way. Think they see patrolling outside a hall full of mighty warriors to be a waste of time."

Aelfwynn briskly started towards the ridge, however stopped herself. "Well… thanks, Sihtric. For all of this. To be honest, I still don't fully understand why you're going against the jarl's wishes for my sake, risking everything you've gained, you've earned here. Saving your life aside."

"The Jarl…. Is a good man. A man of honour at heart. But he sees ruling as having to separate your own beliefs from the necessities of rule. He wants you dead because he thinks that it will keep order. He tries to play to the mood of the people to keep them united."

"You disagree."

Sihtric's emerald eyes grew distant. "I met another man once. A jarl who set his people aflame with the passion of what _he_ believed, not the other way around. A man who led by example and inspired others to follow him. When I saw him, I saw a true leader. One who would never forsake what he thought was right, decent or honourable, and his people supported him because they could believe in him for those very reasons." He looked back at Aelfwynn, appearing almost embarrassed at showing genuine passion for a change. "You saved many lives yesterday at the watchtower. According to others you've done a lot more besides. I could not stand by and let you be killed for it." She nodded once at him, before walking towards the city wall.

"Will I see you again?" He blurted quickly, causing Aelfwynn to stop walking towards the wall and turn back toward him.

Aelfwynn smiled sadly, turning back to him, her rose eyes glistening. "When I first came back to Whiterun, I thought I could leave my past, my nature behind. I thought I could re-join the communities I had played a fleeting part in when I first came to Skyrim. That maybe I could live among them, resume my duties. I see now that I was a fool to think so." She paused for a moment, taking his hand. "We walk in different worlds you and I. Yours is a world of jarls, heroes and songs. Mine is full of monsters, shadows and blood." She dropped his hand and began to climb over the precipice.

"Sometimes those worlds overlap you know" Sihtric pointed out.

"Then you have your answer 'dragonborn'." Aelfwynn replied teasingly, before dropping into the blackness of darkest night.

 _Author's Note:_ _Although it might seem strange for a small-time fic to be talking of spin-offs, I've been wanting to explore Sihtric's story in his own story lately, explore different themes to those central in Atoning for Blood, which are only hinted at and briefly explored in these chapters. They would be taking place fairly concurrently in the same world and may well occasionally appear in each other's respective stories, but often focus on different characters and plots. If you have any thoughts on that, feel free to put a review or send me a message!_


	15. Chapter 15: Reunions

Chapter 15: Reunions

Frostfall had come early to the Rift. Snow and ice had already begun to line the narrow length of Dayspring Canyon, choking the brown and waning plant life. Agmaer pulled his fur cloak closer about him, bracing against the sharp wind channelled by the narrow opening to the valley. He glanced through the jagged entrance. One of the tallest pines in the distance gave the impression of a pupil, serving as the centre for a cruel, uncaring eye watching him shiver. Agmaer stepped out of the path of the gale, and began to collect his thoughts. He was actually doing it this time. Agmaer had often considered leaving the farm and finding his own way in the world, thoughts of imaginary adventures kept his mind active during the mundanity of mucking out the animals. In his head he won every battle, every journey was an exciting chase. It didn't take so long to get from one place to another in his imaginings, and certainly hills weren't such a trial. When that Orc fellow, Durak he said, came to the village and spoke of the terrors the growing vampire threat were unleashing on Skyrim, and how they could be next, Agmaer knew he had to act. Village folk had always lived in fear of the night at the best of times.

As he exhaled into the frigid air, watching the steam rise, Agmaer caught movement on the corner of his vision. He turned to see a figure storming down the valley, his face obscured by a thick hood, his hide travel cloak blustering in the wind.

"Hey!" Agmaer called out to the figure. "You here to join the Dawnguard too?" Agmaer strode up to the figure, a man – given by his gait.

The stranger made no audible response, however his reply may well have got lost in the deafening gale. "Truth is, I'm a little nervous. I've never done anything like this before. I hope you don't mind if I walk up with you."

Agmaer had always been nervous around strangers, as many rural dwellers are. Unfortunately, his solution to the anxiety was to speak both excessively and quickly, blotting out the chance for any awkward silences. "Hey, uh, don't tell Isran I was afraid to meet him by myself. Not the best first impression for a new vampire hunter, I guess."

The man turned to look at him for the first time, a blue eye visible under his hood. "So, farm boy. What brings you away from the family business eh? Farms need tending, in these troubled times more than ever" he said, in a detectable Nordic accent.

"I heard what's going on. The vampires, the Dawnguard, all of it. I wanted to help, so here I am."

"Fair enough. Be warned though, the bard's college is unlikely to sing songs of our deeds here. There's no honour or glory when it comes to vampires." He finished the sentence as if it left a bitter taste in his mouth. A silence endured for about half a minute before Agmaer impulsively jumped in again. "You've probably killed lots of vampires, huh? I'm sure Isran will sign you right up. Not sure he'll take me. I hope so."

"I've played my part in a fair few battles, but not vampires specifically. Though I do have somewhat of a score to settle in that regard."

"You lost someone? Killed by the vampires?"

"Not killed, but lost yes. A fiend took her away from me. Vampires aren't just killers friend. They're liars, manipulators. They hide in plain sight and tear your life apart. Lucky for me I didn't hang around for the kill."

"I'm sorry."

Another silence. The valley floor turned into an incline. The odd rabbit jumped out from behind a snowdrift, and Agmaer thought he spotted a deer emerge from behind the sickly trees. Suddenly, an enormous structure became visible on the path ahead. It was like no fort Agmaer had ever seen in his life. "That must be it. Fort Dawnguard... Wow. Bigger than I expected."

He immediately realised the inadequacy of his statement. The fortress consisted of several enormous stone towers, thicker towards the top. The peaks were adorned with several arrowslits supported beneath by a series of arches. On the sole flat wall, on which the main entrance appeared to be, the wall had several immense buttresses. The construction was such that it was hard to imagine any siege engine being able to penetrate the defences. Agmaer got the impression that this place was built with the word 'indestructible' in mind. Agmaer saw a familiar face to the side of the path. The orc, Durak was firing some strange weapon at a nearby treestump. It appeared to shoot like a bow, but the smaller projectiles appeared to launch with an unchecked ferocity. It made Agmaer recoil instinctually. He decided not to renew their acquaintance just yet.

As they approached the flight of stone steps which preceded the great wooden gateway, a brown-haired Breton called out to the snow-covered pair.

"Here to join the Dawnguard? Good. Head inside, speak to Isran. He'll decide if you've got what it takes."

Agmaer glanced at his hooded companion. "I guess this is it. Wish me luck."

The pair entered an enormous circular chamber. The roof stretched higher than Agmaer had imagined the height of the surrounding towers, and naked daylight shone in from above. The cobbled floor was broken up by a metal grate which formed a circle around the room. Cobwebs adorned the many packing crates which huddled against the worn stone walls, giving the impression of a distinct lack of use.

An imposing Redguard stood in the centre of the circle, presumably Isran. He was speaking in an adversarial tone with an equally dominating bald Nord who wore a suit of steel plate armour beneath a set of robes. Agmaer stayed close to the entrance, making an effort to avoid any notice. His cloaked companion on the other hand, stood boldly in the light, waiting for the exchange to finish.

"…and now you've stirred up the vampires against you, you come begging for my protection?" The redguard questioned angrily.

The Nord replied with no less fire, but with a pained tone. "Isran, Keeper Carcette is dead. The Hall of the Vigilants… everyone, they're all dead! You were right, we were wrong, isn't that enough for you?"

"Yes, well... I never wanted any of this to happen. I tried to warn all of you... I am sorry, you know."

Isran then turned to Agmaer's quiet companion. "So who are you, what do you want?"

The stranger lowered his hood.

"Jon Battle-Born. I'm here to join the Dawnguard."

There were no seasons in the mountains. A nocturnal plateau of forever winter lingered atop the summits, a circling snowstorm blanketing the darkened world. The sparsely exposed pines shivered in the irregular bursts of icy wind, whilst cynical-faced owls nestled in their branches. Beyond the frozen peak, a vast marshland far below reflected the light of the moon. Further still, the arch of solitude stood ominously amongst the mists which ponderously coiled about it.

Aelfwynn felt like an imposter as she looked down at herself. The black vampire armour had once seemed like a second skin to her, but now it just felt strange, exposing. It's insistence on accentuating her more feminine features certainly didn't help. The design highlighted one of the many contradictions of the vampire, Aelfwynn thought. It represented the consequence of a towering vanity; to want to both blend in with the shadows whilst still being able to draw every eye in the room. Aelfwynn rolled her eyes as she practiced carrying herself in an appropriately 'vampiric manner'. Vampires were precise, and every action taken was done with both exquisite elegance and obvious purpose. No sign of imperfection – seen blatantly as weakness - would pass undetected. Even acting casually required concentration. _Utter Absurdity…_ Aelfwynn thought to herself as she strutted back and forth through the snow. The dry thirst nagging at the back of her throat certainly wasn't helping her mood.

Nonetheless, this was her best bet to infiltrate Dimhollow Crypt. Aelfwynn realised she may well be playing into Morcar's hands by following his request, but at this point she had little choice. If her sire was right, if these vampire attacks which had claimed the lives of so many were merely the prelude to a new dark age, then there was no choice. She had to intervene. Her attempts to aid the people of Skyrim directly had been well… nothing short of a disaster, so moving amongst the vampires and trying to sabotage their plans seemed to be the best route. She pulled the stiff black leather hood over her head and began her descent towards the narrow entrance carved into the cliffside.

Aelfwynn couldn't help but open her mouth in awe as she entered the cavern. Though to a mortal, it would have likely appeared dark and uninviting, to the undead eye Dimhollow was quite different. Water poured into the chamber from above, before running along the cave floor only to disappear at the other end, flowing on to explore unknown depths within Nirn. Great stone columns, carved by millennia of gentle erosion stood irregularly throughout the room, statues in reverence of time itself. Vibrant moss and lichen broke up the monotony of stone in the walls, whilst mushrooms sprouted from between the smooth pebbles on the cave floor. Aelfwynn had often asked herself in recent days how she could bear never seeing the beauty of a sunrise or watching daylight colour the world, and yet the beauteous sight before her swiftly reminder her. Beauty could be found hidden in the most unusual places, even in darkest night.

As Aelfwynn turned the snow coated corner, she glanced a metal portcullis. Discarded pickaxes and shifted rock appeared to suggest recent excavation. _Aha,_ she thought, _this must be the entrance to the crypt itself_. Aelfwynn strode purposely towards it. A brutish looking vampire, his features distorted and monstrous, reached for his axe as he spotted Aelfwynn emerge from the shadows.

"And who might you be, hmm? A lost fly wandering into our web?" The vampire spat coarsely. Aelfwynn took a gamble.

"Harkon sent me." She lied smoothly. "Our Lord wanted to know why his prize still hasn't been retrieved." She imitated a vicious grin, baring her fangs. "I _do_ hope you have a good explanation…"

The vampire's face swiftly took on a shade of fear, deference even. He began to step back from Aelfwynn, holding his clawed hands up in submission. "Ah…" he stuttered. "Well, you'll have to speak to Lokil about that, it's not my place to…."

She cut him off. "I see. Where is this 'Lokil'?"

"Interrogating the prisoner ma'am. I-I'm sure you'll find him deeper within the catacombs." He began signalling towards an ancient stone tower elsewhere in the cavern, and slowly the portcullis began to rise.

"I'll be sure to tell Lord Harkon of how helpful you were.. I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

The guard began stammering, backing away from the gate. Aelfwynn couldn't help but let out a small giggle as she entered the barrow, leaving the cave ringing like a bell.

Slipping back into character had been too easy. Aelfwynn tried to supress the involuntary wave of pleasure manipulating the fledgling had given her, trying to keep focus on her purpose here. The other members of the Volkihar expedition must have overheard the conversation taking place above, as most either disappeared down side-passages cloaked in cobwebs as she approached, or merely ignored her entirely. Aelfwynn travelled through a variety of chambers and passageways. Some took the form of vibrant natural caves lined with shallow lakes and jagged rock faces, others sinister burial chambers with perfectly still draugr blankly staring into nothing. As she passed through one of the tunnels, Aelfwynn felt an icy hand close over her mouth as she was dragged into an adjoining tunnel, before being pushed against a wall. Her eyes widened as she recognised the familiar face.

"You never did bring me back that something warm you know…" Frieda said with a pout. "but I knew you'd come back to us eventually."


	16. Chapter 16: Discoveries

Chapter 16: Discoveries

Aelfwynn was stunned as she stared into the face of her former friend. She wore a grey variant of the same vampire armour, her single blonde plait resting on her chest. Her eyes were a deep, smouldering red, and her expression seemed forever locked in a playful manner. Like all Nords, Frieda stood a good deal taller than Aelfwynn. No, Frieda had been more than a friend to Aelfwynn once, but she could not bear to think of it for the guilt. Freeing herself from the other vampire's grasp, Aelfwynn glanced both ways down the tunnel to check to see if anyone was listening in. Satisfied they were alone this deep inside the ruin, she grabbed Frieda's wrist possessively.

"Frieda, what in Oblivion are you doing here?"

"Well, after you pushed your sire away…" she accused with a glare, "Morcar came to me to get the job done. Been working my way into Lokir's good graces for days. Hardly fun mind you, most of this lot are half-wits anyway. That said, a distraction from the nightmares was worth it."

"Nightmares?"

"Started a few days after you left. A cell. Dark, filthy, with the jeers of mortals coming at me from a hole above. I was starving, blood filled my every thought, I would wake to drink but never be sated. I have you to thank I suppose?"

Aelfwynn cast her eyes away from Frieda, guilt in her face.

Frieda placed her hand on her hip, in an all too familiar pose to Aelfwynn. "Yes, Morcar told me about the bond. The blood bond between sire and progeny. Had you forgotten me so easily 'mother'?"

"Don't call me that. Mara, don't call me that!" Aelfwynn snapped at her, pain in her eyes.

"Are you so ashamed of me Wynn? After all the time I spent trying to be like you?" Frieda paused for a moment. "That's it isn't it? It's not me you're seeing, it's your own reflection you can't stand."

Frieda pulled her wrist away, a pout on her lips. Aelfwynn sighed. "Maybe that's why our reflections were taken away."

"Will you quit it? When all of a sudden did you become the queen of mourning? You used to know how to have fun Wynn!"

"When I started looking back at what we'd done Frieda! How many innocent lives did we ruin? How many more did we take?"

Frieda lowered her voice to a whisper. "You know as well as I do that no one is innocent. They all use and discard people at any opportunity. I can see you've had to re-learn that lesson pretty recently Wynn, I can smell it all over you."

"Look, when we both get through this, we're going to have a talk." Aelfwynn ordered, gesturing sharply. "But for now we've got work to do. Have you figured out what they believe they've found here? I heard something about… well if you can believe this an elder scroll."

Frieda looked singularly unimpressed. "So? If it is we can stop worrying, what could one old scroll do anyway?"

Aelfwynn sighed. "Frieda, the elder scrolls are possibly the most powerful items in all and any planes of existence! From what I read in the archives back at the temple, they don't even follow linear time, and not even the gods understand their purpose. If Harkon gets one… well I can't even fathom what he'd do with it."

"End the 'Tyranny of the Sun' apparently." Frieda drily replied.

"Yes, but he would never be able to even read it. Either way, where do they think the scroll is?"

"A recently excavated part of the ruins a bit farther down. Come on, I think we might catch the end of the interrogation if we hurry! I love to see it when they break, don't you?" She laughed a cruel laugh and began to walk briskly down the corridor.

Just then, Aelfwynn had a thought. Frieda was her fault – no doubt there. But maybe… maybe if she could make her see, allow her to understand what they'd become in their depravity, it could all be worth it. An appropriate penance perhaps. She began to follow Frieda, a look of new resolve set into her face.

The deeper they descended into the barrow, the more Aelfwynn came to realise what a strange ruin this was. Nordic carved corridors frequently gave way to natural caverns with underground streams running through their centre, occasionally runic pillars becoming the only evidence of man's occupation. In totality, the ruin gave the impression of man and nature in conflict with one another. Aelfwynn and Frieda moved almost invisibly through the diffused spread of vampires who stalked the halls of the odd barrow. Though trust was a scant thing between children of the night, Aelfwynn noticed a distinct difference between this group and the coven she had once been a part of. Between a coven, both due to ties of blood as well as shared experience, there was a sense of mutual respect and loyalty between individuals – especially when faced with a common enemy or rival group. Here tensions seemed higher. Each vampire watched carefully as any other passed by, and Aelfwynn observed that their hands never seemed far from their weapons. She got the impression that this 'expedition' had been forced together from a variety of groups, even if not they clearly had little experience of working together.

They passed out of a narrow network of tunnels into a larger chamber. Suddenly once again the Nordic architecture stopped dead in its tracks, giving way into an apparently natural cavern. _Strange_ , Aelfwynn thought. She had assumed that if the scroll was indeed hidden here it had been coveted by the ancients, who had presumably built this barrow to keep its power buried along with its dragon-cursed dead. A curiosity brushed across her mind as she pondered why the Draugr had remained dusty and dormant despite the vampiric activity around them.

 _Hmm. Perhaps the dead aren't bothered by their own kind walking among them._

Occasionally Frieda would glance at her sire appraisingly, her permanent smirk would briefly vanish, the surface of her brow beginning to knot before quickly regaining her composure. Despite her quick recovery, it was clear that Aelfwynn's manner continued to frustrate her. Frieda had never been one for subtlety. Despite her sire and grandsire's focus on mastery of manipulation, she had never truly shed some of her mortal qualities, and in life she wore her heart on her sleeve. As a result, Aelfwynn had always been able to read her mood – excepting the night of her departure. When something was weighing on her mind – as was clearly the case at the moment - she would absently chew on the end of her golden plait, and her striking eyes narrowed in thought.

The thick silence between them was broken by startled cries coming from deeper within the cavern. The two vampires shared a knowing glance before running toward it. The floor ahead rose in a sheer ridge, save for a narrow gravel path which curved around the right-hand wall. Turning a sharp corner after the ascent, Aelfwynn saw the source of the disturbance. An Elven vampire -Bosmer by the look of him - lay prostrated as an enormous brown spider pinned him to the ground. It's bulging eyes exuded a terrible hunger, and its pointed mandibles oozed a thick fluid, smothering the face of its victim. Far above, several smaller members of the monster's brood began to descend on translucent threads, determined to expel the undead intruders.

As the arachnids began to scuttle towards them, Frieda drew a steel blade and leapt at the nearest of the creatures, splitting it asunder with a single crushing blow before three other spiders manoeuvred their legs to ensnare her. Aelfwynn carried no weapons, but opened her palm and blew, releasing a cloud of frost which enveloped the two spiders who advanced on her, causing them to freeze solid, keeling over like petrified statues. The creatures continued to pour down from the ceiling in waves, beginning to force Aelfwynn and Frieda back, eventually backed against the cave wall as the spiders surrounded them. Turning to look at her sire, Frieda extended her arm toward Aelfwynn. In a pattern so familiar to her it may as well have been instinct, Aelfwynn held out her own, interlocking their fingers. Red light began to coil around the joined arms of the two vampires in frantic circles, before they both thrusted their free arms towards the oncoming horde. A solid wall of red light rippled across the cavern, consuming everything in its path before dispersing along the surface of the far cave wall. The frostbite spiders ceased their advance as they began to glow with the same crimson light, and after a moment of perfect stillness they fled, frantically clawing their way back to their unseen lair far above.

The Bosmer clawed at his face, attempting to clear it of the giant spider's viscous ooze. He rose then, managing to shoot Aelfwynn and Frieda a dangerous look, before storming from their presence, muttering empty threats under his breath.

"Good to know you haven't completely lost your edge Wynn," Frieda teased, before gesturing to the structure ahead. The architecture was clearly not Nordic. The wall was composed with a precise, gothic architecture. Frieda's smirk widened. "Never seen anything like it huh?"

"Actually," Aelfwynn replied, "it's quite similar to the castles littered all over High Rock. I remember riding out into the hills before lessons. You could watch the sunrise paint the sky with such vivid colours, and those huge, almost mournful stone fortresses weeping dew gave it all a sense of… well, drama." Aelfwynn caught Frieda giving her a highly amused look.

"Erm, sorry. Breton romances made up most of the reading room where I grew up."

"Forget all that, you had your own horse as a girl?"

Aelfwynn nonchalantly clasped her left arm, averting her eyes guiltily.

Frieda started to chuckle. "I always thought you were too well-spoken to be some peasant waif dumped on the temple doorstep."

Aelfwynn swiftly changed the subject. "I've never seen gargoyles like those before though. They seem… wrong somehow."

The two statues were hunched over, as if attempting to conceal that if standing straight, they would easily tower over man or elf. The empty cavities which stood in for their eyes seemed to exude a palpable sense of dread. Frieda nudged her sire encouragingly. "Come on, 'm'lady' it's just through here."

Aelfwynn couldn't help but smile at her progeny's infectious amusement. She felt a pang of regret for leaving her without a word of honest explanation all those days ago. Like with her own sire, Aelfwynn's feelings for Frieda were heavily conflicted. In a moment of brutal clarity, Aelfwynn realised that perhaps underneath it all she felt in some way she loved this vicious, callous, evil, amusing and beautiful creature she had brought into the night.

However, if her training in the ways of Mara had taught her anything, it was that whilst compassion for those one might otherwise hate is something to aspire to, truly misplaced love can be a terrible thing.

The next chamber led out on to a narrow balcony, past another two gargoyles which continued Aelfwynn's feelings of unease. Whilst Frieda firmly planted herself against the precarious rail, Aelfwynn stood back, casting her eyes to the scene playing out beneath them. Before them was an enormous chamber, shards of sunlight broke through the natural undercroft, providing a strange sense of the unreal. Far above a dark lake, a vast circular structure hung suspended, adorned with grandiose archways and pillars, consistent with this new style of architecture. The shape and design of the structure gave the impression of some sort of ancient temple. Between the strange temple and the balcony was a small bridge, connecting to the balcony with a flat platform leading to an immense flight of stone stairs. At the bottom of these, a robed figure was on his knees before an abnormally gaunt-faced Nord vampire. Behind him, a cynical-looking Dunmer stood in shadow, pacing impatiently.

"I'll never tell you anything vampire!" The vigilant cried out, taking a moment to spit blood onto the cobbles beside him. "My oath to Stendarr is stronger than any suffering you can inflict on me!"

Aelfwynn recognised the look in his eyes, that look of complete faith, doubtless devotion. Matriarch Voadette back in Daggerfall had the same unrelenting steel woven into every word she spoke, and even gentle Danica Pure-Spring wore it on occasion. Aelfwynn was unsure if she had ever truly had the same zeal. If she had, she could have resisted the temptation of her sire's blood in that cold Windhelm alley and would have sank down into death without fear.

"Oh, I believe you vigilant, and I don't think you even know what you've found here. So go, meet your beloved Stendarr."

There was a tearing sound as fangs met flesh, followed by an agonised scream. Moments later, a muffled thud could be heard as the drained husk collided with the uncaring stone floor beneath. The scent of blood filled the air, causing Aelfwynn and Frieda's jaws to start twitching.

"Was that wise Lokil? He still might have told us something. We haven't gotten anywhere ourselves with…"

Lokil cut her off. "He knew nothing. He served his purpose by leading us to this place. Now it is up to us to bring Harkon the prize. And we will not return without it. Vingalmo and Orthjolf will make way for me after this!"

The female vampire scoffed. "Just remember who brought you the information in the first place."

Lokil chuckled at that, pausing to give his colleague a look dripping with unspoken intent. "Don't worry. I always remember who my friends are, as well as my enemies." Whilst Aelfwynn stood back from the well-preserved stone rail, Frieda leant as far forward over it as possible, her smirk extended into a hungry grin. She stood as if proximity to the kill invigorated her.

Aelfwynn watched as Lokil turned his gaze away, and strode restlessly towards the strange circular temple, the suspicious Dunmer tailing behind him. Aelfwynn swiftly realised that the Volkihar were close to getting what they came for.

She was painfully aware that sound carried easily in vast caverns, so asking Frieda for her intentions was out of the question. Then it hit her. Tentatively, Aelfwynn reached out with her mind.

 _Frieda? Can you hear me?_

Aelfwynn quickly grabbed Frieda by the shoulders as she nearly toppled over the stone railing. The Nord was practically shaking. She was about to open her mouth to retort when Aelfwynn sent out another thought.

 _No. Don't speak – just… think the words._

 _How are you…? Is this some sort of sick spell? Get out of my head Wynn!_

Hmph. Morcar clearly hadn't completely explained the blood-bond to Frieda. Probably some ulterior motive Aelfwynn thought to herself.

 _It's not like that. We share the same blood remember – it gives us certain… advantages when we stay close. This is one of them._

Frieda quickly seemed to recover her wits. She cocked her head to the side and smiled mischievously. Then, with a look of concentration she narrowed her eyes and stared deeply at Aelfwynn. Aelfwynn was confused as to her intent for a moment before she could feel Frieda attempting to sift through her thoughts and memories.

Aelfwynn pushed Frieda from her mind with a scowl.

 _Do you mind!? Perhaps if you're so damn curious I can give you the guided tour! But shouldn't we deal with the matter at hand first?_

 _Fine. We kill them. Sound like a plan?_

Aelfwynn looked at Frieda hopelessly.

Frieda rolled her eyes. Wynn's expression was so familiar it conjured a clear image of her mortal mother in her mind.

Frieda wondered why Aelfwynn had re-grafted her hands to her hips in that signature pose before recalling that her thoughts were no longer entirely her own.

 _Truth hurts Wynn_ , Frieda thought, before blending in with the cave shadows and disappearing down the stone steps. Aelfwynn moved to follow her, similarly wrapping herself in a cloak of darkness. Vampiric invisibility offered far less certain protection against other children of the night, however Aelfwynn hoped that Lokil's focus on retrieving this treasure for Harkon would keep them off-guard. There was no merciful solution to this situation. Lokil seemed far too wary to think that any other vampires would be here for anything but to steal his prize and position, and as for magical manipulation - all but the most powerful illusion spells were ineffective against the undead. As they crept towards the stone bridge, Frieda picked up a worn pebble and threw it across the chamber, before it plummeted inelegantly into the midnight waters below. The Dunmer snapped her head towards the noise, and drawing an ebony dagger, began to stalk towards the bridge behind which the two other female vampires concealed themselves.

Frieda waited for the last moment before slashing the vampire's Achilles tendon, causing a visceral snap. Before the Dunmer could scream, Frieda's claws were over her mouth and her steel sword protruded from the dying vampire's chest. Meanwhile Aelfwynn rose to her feet, her black hood slipping off her head in the process, as she targeted the leather-clad thrall who appeared to be attending Lokil. His armour resembled that of a common bandit, but he was built like a mammoth, and nearly as hairy. As Aelfwynn began to curl her fingers, red light surrounded him like a restless cyclone, and then suddenly he let out a mindless war cry and began to swing his Warhammer in a reckless whirl towards Lokil, his mouth frothing in maddened rage.

Lokil was more than a match for him. He dodged every mighty blow with ease, before negligently knocking the hammer from his crazed servant's grasp irritably, as if swatting an offending insect. He lifted his enormous thrall off the ground, peered into his eyes for a moment as if examining an alchemical component, and then threw him off the platform into the black waters below. The sound he made as he hit the water resembled more of a crack than a splash.

Lokil turned towards the intruders, hatred burning in the scarlet eyes which fixed on Aelfwynn. He grinned mirthfully then, as he ripped two black blades from their sheathes at his hips.

"Well, well. Lord Harkon told me I should expect Morcar or the white-haired bitch he sired to try and interfere. Don't you worry, I'm not unhappy with the outcome. When I bring our Lord your ashes I wouldn't be surprised if he puts me at his right hand. After he pins your worthless sire to a post and leaves him out for the sunrise that is." He glanced at Frieda. "It's not too late for you girl. I've watched you these past days, you're no mortal loving deviant like the waste of un-life next to you. Kill her now, and we can return to Harkon together. He will reward you handsomely I'm sure. What do you owe this filth anyway?"

"Everything." Frieda stated simply, before throwing the dead vampire's ebony dagger straight towards Lokil. He flicked it to one side with one of his blades with ease.

"So be it."

Frieda passed a weapon to Aelfwynn. It appeared to be a silver mace – presumably taken from the body of the vigilant Lokil had killed.

Frieda's voice echoed in her mind. _You still remember how to use one of these?_ Aelfwynn didn't feel the need to dignify that with a response. Lokil leapt across the bridge with a laugh, closing the distance between them. His movements reminded Aelfwynn of the redguard duelists who often entertained in the marketplaces of Daggerfall. Each blade acted merely as an extension of the acrobat who wielded it. The fact that Lokil was outnumbered appeared to not phase him in the least, to the contrary he seemed to use their divided actions to his advantage, quickly riposting one thrust from Frieda's sword before taking the opportunity to savagely slash Aelfwynn's hip. Bright blood gushed onto the cobbles below as the Breton cried out in pain, forcibly lowered to her knees. Now alone in the fight, Frieda attempted to keep Lokil off balance by continually advancing with aggressive strikes combined with kicks and backhand blows, knocking him further along the bridge towards the temple. A momentary misstep allowed Frieda to knock Lokil to the ground with a blow from her armoured fist. She quickly wrapped both hands around the handle of her sword, thrusting downwards to impale the prostrate Lokil. Lokil had not lost grip on either of his black blades, and raising them in a crossed position, he interrupted Frieda's blow, steel grating on metal with an offensive sound, before he took the opportunity to disarm her completely. Frieda took a chance, aiming for his neck with her claws, however Lokil used the momentum against her, kicking her over his head, and over the crumbling balcony behind them. She fell silently.

Aelfwynn's lack of breath caught in her throat. It seemed to take an eternity for Frieda's body to drop out of view. Lokil sprang fluidly to his feet, nonchalantly brushing himself down before beginning to approach her. Having measured the skill of his opponents, he now walked without any apparent concern, victory was certain. Aelfwynn knew she would never be able to defeat him fighting vampire to vampire. Maybe that was it, she thought to herself – to not fight like a vampire. Aelfwynn rose to her feet tentatively, wincing at her bleeding wound. Mouthing the familiar incantation, an orb of golden light began to form between Aelfwynn's hands, followed by a hissing sound and generous plumes of smoke. For the first time something like fear appeared behind Lokil's eyes. Beams of sunlight burned into Lokil's chest, resulting in an agonised scream. Lokil's skin began to crackle and burn as he continued his approach, his brow creased in concentration. He still refused to drop his weapons as his body's flesh was stripped from bone, while wisps of smoky ash fell to the floor. As his swords eventually slipped from his failing limbs, he grabbed at the leather of Aelfwynn's armour possessively.

"What right… have you?" Lokil demanded of her, before he collapsed inwards on himself, the hatred lined into his face fading away into grains of indifferent dust. His remains were quickly dissipated by the gentle breath of mountain air, trickling down from the openings far above. Despite her still leaking wound, Aelfwynn limped back along the bridge at a sprint, sliding down ridges of loose shingle and rock to reach the shoreline far below. She felt a tension in her chest as she gazed along the waterline, looking for any sign of her fallen companion. After an agonisingly long moment, a splash several metres out into the lake caught Aelfwynn's attention. Frieda strode boisterously out of the water, diluted blood running freely from her fanged mouth. "Close thing there, luckily I found myself a snack," she called out to Aelfwynn, gesturing behind her towards the body of Lokil's thrall, now floating motionlessly in the dark water. Wordlessly Aelfwynn embraced her, for one moment forgetting any disagreements or differences they now held. Then she pulled herself away self-consciously, and trying to hide her obvious embarrassment, proceeded to tell her dripping progeny exactly what she thought of her recklessness – at length. Frieda crossed her arms and endured her verbal abuse with uncharacteristic silence, her smirk and her eyes now speaking only of victory – a victory far more important than slaying a couple of Volkihar underlings.


	17. Chapter 17: Complications

Chapter 17: Complications

The braziers were littered irregularly about the strange platform, linked by strange gutters which lined the structure in rings. The platform lowered in short flights of steps every few metres inwards, and at the very centre stood a strange button. Aelfwynn and Frieda had been exploring the curious temple for a few minutes, trying to decipher its perplexing purpose. The prize Lokil had spoken of so desperately must have been concealed nearby.

Frieda had been insufferably smug since they had climbed back up from the lake's edge. In a moment of weakness, Aelfwynn had revealed what she had tried to conceal even from herself, her lingering affection for her childe of the night. In truth, Aelfwynn had half-expected Frieda to betray her to Lokil – from a vampire's perspective it made sense. Lokil would have undoubtedly betrayed her later, however proximity to such power as Harkon's favour presumably offered must have been hard to resist. She looked towards her progeny appraisingly, watching as she nibbled impatiently on the end of her blonde plait, eyeing the mysterious button longingly. Despite Frieda believing Aelfwynn had effectively abandoned her, betrayed herself and everything she had stood for – she still wanted her approval. It certainly didn't help with the guilt.

"Remind me again why I can't just press this? It's obviously important Wynn" Frieda exclaimed impatiently.

"Because if you were trying to hide a valuable treasure, you don't make the solution obvious."

"Hmph" she grunted in reply, striding over to where Aelfwynn examined one of the immaculate braziers. "So, whilst you brood thoughtfully, is that offer for a 'tour' still open?"

Aelfwynn raised one eyebrow. "Depends. What did you want to see?"

"Well, what you've done since you left would be a start. Maybe if I can see what went wrong that night you ran out on us I can help you. Help fix what's obviously gone wrong in that funny old head of yours…" Frieda said seriously.

Aelfwynn mulled it over for a moment. Carrying the weight of it all, unable to fully explain to anyone had weighed on her lately, and perhaps this could be a good opportunity. However, it meant opening up to someone who she should consider an enemy, and for all she knew Frieda might use it against her later.

"Alright. Just… don't try anything."

"Would I do that?" Frieda asked mockingly. Aelfwynn sighed melodramatically and guided Frieda's hands to her temples.

 _The images began to pass by, hours passing in seconds. One moment Aelfwynn sat almost weeping by the lakeside in broken fang cave, then she faced the agony of resisting the instinct to feed on the broken soldier. The adventure with Jon Battle-Born and Uthgerd played out at the peak of Orphan's Rock as human and vampire fought together for survival. Suddenly the memories became tainted with pain and loss and Danica's dead body once again lay beneath her in the temple of Kynareth, amplified by the madness of starvation during her imprisonment in the depths of Dragonsreach. The Windhelm alley and the golden statue of Mara re-appeared, shadows looming. Balgruuf's betrayal cut deeper than the terror of the dragon staring into her with its burning eyes, and her almost comical escape from Whiterun and tentative friendship with the brash Sihtric did little to heal the deeper wounds._

Frieda stumbled backwards, her eyes wide, no trace of the usual smile on her face. She rubbed her eyes as if trying to clear a malevolent haze from her vision. She placed her hand against one of the unlit braziers to steady herself. Aelfwynn instinctually reached forward to support her, but Frieda ordered her away with a sharp hiss.

"Who… what are you?" She demanded of Aelfwynn. "Are you even still a vampire? Are you still my sire?" Frieda's panic continued for a few moments

Her eyes narrowed. "That Jarl, he's dead. Used you like a wet rag and discarded you as quickly."

"Frieda… listen to me" Aelfwynn interjected softly.

"NO! For once, you listen to me," she interrupted, her voice rising. "Don't you see Wynn? You obsess around the idea that you need to be forgiven for being what you are, but its them – mortals - who are sick. This isn't the curse that your worthless Goddess claims, its freedom. A freedom that you shared with me, that you trusted with me! They're powerless to hurt either of us – unless we let them. That's what you did in Whiterun."

Aelfwynn was shocked to see what appeared to be genuine tears start to form in Frieda's crimson eyes. She turned away from her sire and walked over to the strange button.

"Sometimes we just have to take a leap of faith Wynn. We have to trust our instincts." She pressed the button.

A wall of purple flames, rising and falling like a set of ethereal jaws erupted in a ring surrounding Frieda, and she let out a piercing scream which threatened to tear the cold tomb air asunder. For a moment Aelfwynn thought her companion had burst into flame, however after a moment she realised that was not the case. The fires appeared to be giving off no heat. To the contrary, the flames seemed to somehow cool the air around them, and thin lines of frost began to form on the cold stone floor. Aelfwynn felt a sudden compulsion to touch the flames. As she pushed her hand into it her vision clouded for a moment. Not only was the fire even cold to a vampire's touch, but an alien magical energy seemed to pulse through it. Aelfwynn shuddered to think what dark magic had conjured the flames from the foulest depths of Oblivion.

No longer blinded by the sudden glare, Aelfwynn could now see Frieda through the flames. The button had released a hidden spike which had pierced the younger vampire's hand entirely. She freed her hand with one sharp movement and knotted her face in concentration. Since the blood of the kill still flowed hot in her veins, the twisted strands of flesh quickly began to replace themselves as blood began to drip heavily onto the button. 

The pieces of the puzzle more or less fell into place after that. The braziers were clearly designed to traverse the indented gutters which arranged themselves eccentrically in rings surrounding the button, and it seemed to be merely a matter of casting them all within the path of the strange nether-flame. After the paths and flames had completely encircled the central pillar, the entire cavern began to shake with a terrible energy. Aelfwynn and Frieda were thrown to the ground by the impact, gripping onto the braziers for dear life. Great clouds of gravel and dust began to free themselves from the cave walls, and larger rocks began to plummet downwards, splitting violently against the arches and floor of the platform. Aelfwynn lifted her head, and looked on in disbelief as the centre of the circle transformed into a turbulent purple liquid, and an ominous monolith, black as darkest night, slowly rose to the height of a man, the button now sitting atop it. She was momentarily filled with the fanciful notion that the quakes they had experienced were the result of the cave groaning to bear the terrible weight of this strange object entering their dimension.

Feeling a pull towards the anomalous object, Aelfwynn pushed herself off the ground and placed one pale hand against the unnaturally smooth stone. The monolith seemed to vibrate softly with a resonant sound for a moment, as if recognising its owner, before two sides of the stone began to slide downwards into the floor.

It was a woman. She stumbled forward, Aelfwynn moving forward to catch her as she fell from her stony tomb. She was extraordinarily beautiful, raven hair covered her slender shoulders, her milky skin as pale as the gentlest moonlight. When her eyes snapped open, Aelfwynn looked into anxious golden pools.

"Unh... where is... who sent you here?"

"Umm…" Aelfwynn stuttered, removing herself from the woman's arms. "Who were you expecting?"

"I was expecting someone from my family. I don't recognise you, are you one of my father's little acolytes?"

Aelfwynn tried to suppress a moment of irritation at the inflammatory way the mysterious woman had used the phrase 'little acolytes'.

"Who's your father? You mean your sire?"

"No, my _father_." She spoke as though the answer were obvious. "He's a very powerful man. Or at least, he was at one point. I'm surprised another vampire hasn't heard of him."

 _Oh dear._ Aelfwynn thought to herself. _This could be a problem._

Her eyes were like no vampire she had ever seen, with no trace of the usual red or pink tinge.

"So... you're a vampire?" Aelfwynn asked uncertainly, wanting to confirm her suspicions.

"Can't you tell your own kind?" She asked in an increasingly snooty tone. "I could smell you almost before my eyes where open."

Frieda started chuckling.

"Odour aside…" Aelfwynn snapped, glaring for a moment in response, "Why were you locked away like this?"

"That's... complicated. And I'm not totally sure if I can trust you. But if you want to know the whole story, help me get back to my family's home."

"Well… where do you need to go?"

"My family used to live on an island to the west of Solitude. I would guess they still do. By the way... my name is Serana. Good to meet you."

"Yeah, I'm sure." Frieda said in a mocking tone. "So, that thing on your back. Guessing it's an Elder Scroll."

Serana took on a guarded expression. "Yes, it is. And it's mine."

"Is that right?" Frieda's lips began to curl upwards into a familiar snarl. Aelfwynn stepped between her and Serana, refusing to be dwarfed by the two taller vampires.

"Can we do this later? For now we should…" Aelfwynn stopped mid-sentence. Something was wrong. "Frieda, this cavern nearly collapsed in on itself."

"Really? I didn't notice…" she replied sardonically.

Aelfwynn scowled.

Frieda cocked her head to one side. "You keep doing that and you'll forget how to smile. Oh wait, I think it's a little late…"

Serana kept out of the exchange, a look of bewilderment and a raised eyebrow dominating her demeanour.

"Will you stop trying to be clever for a moment and listen!? The mountain nearly fell in on itself, and apparently none of the few dozen vampires camped in this ruin thought it interesting enough to investigate?" Aelfwynn pointed to the balcony high above, where the two had first entered the cavern. A look of concern began to form on Frieda's face. She took an audible sniff of the air.

"Talos, do you smell…"

Aelfwynn nodded, shuddering as the aroma filled her. Serana had clearly noticed it too, presumably her senses were now fully awake. Aelfwynn turned to their new acquaintance, purpose in her rose eyes.

"Do you remember any other ways out of here? From before you were locked away?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," she shrugged, spreading her hands. Aelfwynn found her indifference to the whole affair rather frustrating. In her mind Aelfwynn was determined not to warm to the stranger. Not only was it all but certain she was the daughter of this mysterious 'Lord Harkon', but she was likely powerful and dangerous in her own right. Aelfwynn recalled the tremors, flames and strange purple waters.

There was only one choice. They briskly walked to the second bridge leading from the platform, which quickly led to another flight of worn stone stairs. Another pair of sinister statues gazed emptily towards the centre of the cavern. As they climbed, an unpleasant sound began to pervade the air, like the claws of an animal scraping endlessly against a cave wall. The party ignored the sounds, putting it down to rats nestling somewhere unseen in a hidden chamber, until they heard a deafening crack which echoed throughout the enormous chamber akin to thunder.

Like desert snakes shedding their constraining skin, the two gargoyles smashed their way through the stone shells that concealed them from immortal eyes. They resembled their stone-facsimiles almost perfectly, though their stunted wings and crouched posture seemed all the more hideous brought to life. With the hatred that awoke them burning in their void-like eyes, the gargoyles sprang at the three vampires, claws flashing. Aelfwynn managed to raise a ward before it fell on her, the magical shield grating against one of the beast's arms, whilst the other creature knocked Frieda to the ground with the weight of a stone. The gargoyle's claws penetrated her grey armour, causing blood to seep into the material. A translucent red light began to surround its claws, and with horror Aelfwynn realised it was nearly identical to the vampire drain spell, stealing her progeny's very life essence. Enraged by this perversion of vampiric power, Aelfwynn cast a malevolent burst of fear with her free hand, strangling the beast in crimson coils. Whilst it did not flee, the beast wrestled with itself, flailing its limbs wildly. Serana had drawn an elven dagger, and with the other she held a ball of dark blue magic. Two figures rushed towards the fray from the central platform, the dunmer vampire and the vigilant. Yet, their movements were stiff, not quite right, and they leapt at the gargoyle attacking Aelfwynn with no apparent concern for their own safety. Serana took up position behind them, taking precise thrusts with her dagger. The gargoyle cried in pain with every strike, however stubbornly refused to draw blood. Frieda took advantage of the second gargoyle's confusion, and began taking savage strikes at the beast's neck, however once again the things seemed to shed no lifeblood. Realising the frightening possibility that these creatures were nearly as resilient as the stone they had emerged from, Aelfwynn had an idea. She sent out a mental image to Frieda, of the two beasts fighting each other. Her answering grin was vicious as she continued to slash at the second gargoyle. Whilst Serana's undead continued to harry the first gargoyle, Frieda and Aelfwynn once again linked their arms, this time focusing on anger and fury, before unleashing the volatile energy at their indestructible foes.

Pausing for a moment, the gargoyles suddenly began to tear into each other, stony claws shattering each other in several dreadful collisions. Eventually, broken apart to the point of incapacitation, the gargoyles' movements began to slow, before fading entirely into petrified stillness. As Aelfwynn let out a sigh of both relief and exhaustion, the moment of calm was broken by harsh shouting from behind them.

"YOU! Stop in the name of the Dawnguard!"

The three vampires turned to see several burly men, dressed in a strange lamella armour consisting of a leather base overlaid with square-patterned metal plate. While the majority of them wore closed helmets reminiscent to Aelfwynn of Breton fully-plated knights, one of the figures was shockingly familiar.

"Jon?" She whispered in disbelief, instinctually moving back towards the bridge, one arm half-heartedly outstretched. Frieda yanked her backwards by the waist as three bolts violently embedded themselves in the dirt at Aelfwynn's feet. Whilst three of the attackers remained stationary, reloading their strange weapons, Jon Battle-born and a dangerous looking Orc wielding a brutal axe were charging over the central platform towards them. "Help me with her!" Frieda called to Serana, and desperately they began to almost drag Aelfwynn up the stairs towards the corridor entrance above. She appeared to be almost in a trance – unable to comprehend what she saw. She felt overwhelmed. She had heard the story from the Jarl of course – that Jon had broken into the dungeon with a silver sword determined to execute her, but she hadn't for a moment believed it – not entirely. To see the first friend she had made after her awakening running at her with undisguised hatred in his eyes was too much. She felt a need to retch, to cry and to tear up the earth beneath her feet all at once. Was this to be her legacy wherever she went? Not to heal, not to spread Mara's love or her compassion – but to leave hatred, pain and blood in her wake. In the monster's wake.

They carried her through the cobweb-stricken corridor, and on up another flight of stairs. The relentless clanking of armour not far behind spurred them on. Serana's undead were not far behind, moving surprisingly quickly for the reanimated dead. The next doorway was barred by a portcullis. The solution was straightforward, a lever sat in the centre of the room, near two sealed burial caskets. Without a moment's hesitation Frieda pulled the lever, lifting the portcullis but releasing two draugr hidden within the walls. Serana and Frieda made quick work of the dusty undead, before assessing the situation.

"Right then mystery girl, take dazed Wynnie here and get through the gate. No arguing." Frieda ordered.

The two 'Dawnguard' assailants entered the chamber. Aelfwynn looked on in horror, the possibility of her progeny and former friend killing each other rousing her from the shock which held her in thrall. Frieda grabbed the lever once more, pulling it back with a terrible wrench, both releasing the portcullis and snapping it off cleanly. She ran towards the rapidly falling portcullis, it was clear she wasn't going to make it.

This was wrong. Frieda was a vampire – she lived for her own pleasure, followed her instincts and her desires. Self-sacrifice was not one her defining attributes. Aelfwynn had a momentary epiphany then. The proximity of progeny to sire was having an effect on Frieda's mind – perhaps amplified by the sharing of their memories. Wynn had defined Frieda as a vampire – just as her current self was influencing her now, whether she realised it or not.

Aelfwynn grabbed the portcullis with her vampiric strength. Frieda slid underneath the metal grate before her sire let it drop, causing a terrible screech as iron scraped on stone. Jon rushed towards the gate, desperately trying to lift it, veins standing out in his forehead from exertion. His face was already red with the effort, and he struggled to reach through the bars with passionate ferocity, his haunted-looking eyes locked only on Aelfwynn.

"By Talos, get this gate open would you?" he shouted to his orc companion, who could only shake his head grimly in response. Jon bashed his armoured arm against the portcullis in frustration.

"Jon," Aelfwynn started, holding her hands up. "I understand why you might be angry. I know that I hid the truth from you, but Danica's death… all of the deaths, they weren't my fault, I never meant to hurt…"

He interrupted. "You expect me to believe your lies? That's what your kind are best at! Getting us to lower our guard with your honeyed words _sister_? Make up some story about being a priestess in need? All that time you were just toying with me, before tearing her away!"

Frieda's voice began to whisper in her mind. _My-my, what have you been up to Wynn? You in there after all? Or just old habits dying hard?_

"Danica?" Aelfwynn asked, perplexed at his words.

"Don't play games with me monster! Olfina. All that time we sat together, it seemed like you had finally given me hope of making a life with the woman I love, while all the time you manipulated me with your smile, with your eyes. - into abandoning her in favour of joining in on some foolish quest, made me think of you when…" He stopped himself. "I used to write songs of honour and passion, and my muse walked freely through my thoughts. Now my dreams are haunted by your curse, and the only song I can recite is written in your blood."

Aelfwynn felt red tears began to streak liberally down her face. Before, Jon always had a gentleness beneath his boisterous nord exterior. She had seen it from the beginning – which seemed surprising seeing as the first time they met was tending his wounds after a bar fight. Now that gentility had been ripped from him. He was a tormented shell of himself, and yet he could still use his pain to turn a phrase with the best of any bards.

Serana glanced at Frieda quizzically, who merely rolled her eyes in response. "She was a Breton – use pretty words and she tends to melt all over the cave. Time to go!" Frieda grabbed Aelfwynn's armoured sleeve and began to pull her towards the staircase.

"Jon please..." Aelfwynn begged, reaching out an arm as Frieda dragged her from the ruin, and away from her suffocating guilt.

After several minutes of winding silently through the abandoned sections of Dimhollow crypt, interrupted only by barren chambers and the odd skeleton to bar their path, the ruin came out onto a snowy ledge on the mountainside. The strange ritual which had summoned Serana from wherever she had been entombed had clearly had a widespread impact on the weather. It had been a few hours before dawn when Aelfwynn had first descended into the crypt, and despite the time which had passed beneath, the sun remained concealed behind enormous grey clouds stretching in all directions, far more severe than when she had entered. Snow fell heavily, the flakes falling in an irregular pattern, confused by the conflicted winds swirling around the mountainside.

Serana merely pulled up a hood from behind her head and boldly stepped out into the muted daylight.

"Oh, its so good to breathe again!" Serana exclaimed, delight singing in her voice.

Aelfwynn waited for the inevitable pained expression on her face, and for her unprotected hands to start sizzling and turning red from exposure. However, there was nothing. Serana noticed Aelfwynn and Frieda staring at her with disbelief from behind the protection of the shadowed entrance and smirked.

 _If we were thinking of rushing her for the scroll, this could be worse than we thought_ , Aelfwynn suddenly thought. Frieda silently agreed.

"What's the matter with you? You look like I just walked over your graves here – ah, sorry. Probably a delicate subject now I think about it." Serana asked.

"Isn't it customary to burn in daylight? I'm pretty sure this is cheating." Aelfwynn replied drily.

She lifted the front of her hood and leaned her head back. "I can't see the sun," Serana shrugged with a certain finality.

Whilst Frieda fumbled with a thick black cloak from her knapsack, Aelfwynn couldn't rip the foul armour off soon enough. She had become too comfortable in it, far too quickly. Her brown robes, gloves and boots felt soothing in their simplicity, and she felt grounded with her golden amulet around her neck.

"Are you dropping hints for me here? I may have been away a while, but I remember what an amulet of Mara means." Serana said snarkily.

If Aelfwynn was alive she might even have blushed. "I'm a priestess," she quickly clarified. "We wear the amulet as a symbol of devotion, and so that those in need can quickly identity us."

Serana let out a musical little laugh, before realising that Aelfwynn was apparently quite serious. "I hate to break it to you – 'Wynn' wasn't it?"

"Aelfwynn," Aelfwynn corrected.

"Aelfwynn then, I hate to break it to you – but you're a vampire."

"You know what Serana? I think I've noticed." Aelfwynn replied acidly.

"But you still… worship the Divines?"

"Yes." Aelfwynn replied, placing a hand on her hip defiantly. "My… condition has no bearing on my duties. If anything, it merely means I have more to atone for."

"Except when you need to eat your humble worshippers you mean?" Serana replied sarcastically. The conversation didn't get very far after that. Serana appeared to think Aelfwynn was either completely mad or in denial, whilst Aelfwynn began to think that Serana had a superiority complex, was overly suspicious and had blandly accepted her nature as a vampire. It was not the best of beginnings. So it was as the strange triumvirate descended the mountains of Hjaalmarch, heading towards the marshes far below.


	18. Chapter 18: Memories

_Author's Note: Sorry to all of you who have had to wait a while for this one! I've been away from home for the last couple weeks, and haven't had too many chances to work on this chapter. Additionally, I feel this one took a while to get right. Hope you enjoy!_

Chapter 18: Memories

Frieda wasn't one for small talk, but she quickly bored of the mutual barbs between Aelfwynn and Serana, so she changed the subject the first chance she could get a word in edgeways.

"So princess, how long were you sealed up anyway?" Frieda had started automatically mocking Serana in this fashion, her almost regal armour and manner clearly not passing unnoticed.

"Good question. It feels like a long time, but… it's hard to say really. Who is Skyrim's high king?"

Aelfwynn coughed lightly. "Actually, that's a matter for debate."

"Ah, a war of succession. Good to know things didn't get boring while I was gone. Who are the contenders?"

Frieda chipped in again. "The Empire killjoys support that pathetic doorstop Elisif in Solitude, but many of the foulest smelling and most inebriated Nords are loyal to Ulfric Stormcloak – at least until they sober up or fall in the river."

Aelfwynn suppressed a smile. Frieda's bluntness was often exaggerated, but on occasion it showed she could see to the heart of things. From Aelfwynn's own experience, there was no right and wrong in this war. They both held on to broken shards of a fragmented picture.

"Empire? What Empire?"

Aelfwynn and Frieda stopped in their tracks and glanced at each other. "The… Empire." Aelfwynn clarified, "from Cyrodiil."

"Cyrodiil is the seat of an empire!?" Serana exclaimed, wringing her hands emphatically. "I must have been gone longer than I thought, definitely longer than we planned…"

"We?" Frieda questioned. Serana gave no answer, but definitely seemed disturbed by this revelation. The storm began to thin as morning turned into afternoon. Reaching the stark borders between flat Hjaalmarch and the starkly mountainous Reach, the wrapped up vampires began to look for shelter. Aelfwynn had not rested for at least a day, and she doubted even Serana could be so blasé when faced with direct sunlight.

After a short while they found a suitable cave, fairly well concealed from the road. Aelfwynn saw the odd sign of previous habitation, ash from a fire, the odd discarded piece of meat, the faint stains of animal blood on the stones. It seemed to suggest that perhaps one of the wandering bands of forsworn looking for stray caravans had briefly taken up residence, but they had clearly been gone a long while. When first travelling from West to East, the very idea of the forsworn had terrified Aelfwynn. They were Bretons – like her, but so twisted by hatred, by their perceived oppression and injustice they had degenerated into little more than savage animals, cavorting with monsters and practicing darkest magicks, even going so far to mutilate themselves in search of the power they needed. It seemed ironic after she first returned as a vampire – terrorising the outlying settlements.

Though the almost constant excitement and danger since Aelfwynn had escaped Whiterun had thus far kept her distracted, the ravenous hunger was beginning to claw its way back to the forefront of her mind. The almost semi-permanent dry ache in her throat, whilst temporarily satisfied by the taste of Sihtric's blood was now back in force, filling her every other thought. Whilst mortal blood quietened the music more effectively, when it came time to feed again it made the craving more intense, filling the vampire's mind with the need to kill. Able to ignore it no longer, Aelfwynn followed the faint scent of blood deeper into the cave. The skeevers made easy prey. She broke the first animals neck with brutal efficacy, and drank deeply until every last drop passed over her lips. She drank until the body contracted and shrivelled, and the creature's dead eyes glazed over. Then she tore into the next. And the next. Blood began to pour over her chin, falling onto her robes and staining her amulet indiscriminately. The blood was near unpalatable, but it was something. It was survival. Then, the bloodlust draining from her like a mask falling from her face, she fell to her knees and wept like a broken-hearted child.

Serana found her a short while later, investigating the cries echoing from deeper within the cave. Though she hardly knew the strange and - as far as she was concerned borderline deranged - vampire, she still put an arm about her shoulders, and guided her back to the chamber they had settled into. Aelfwynn was clearly exhausted, and without meeting the eye of Serana or her progeny, she settled down against the cave wall, determined to escape the world in sleep. Serana saw Frieda cast her eyes towards Aelfwynn, disgust apparent in her stare. It seemed to Serana that she somehow knew what had occurred, even though she hadn't been present.

As Aelfwynn faded into unconsciousness, Serana walked over to Frieda. She was standing stiffly at the cave's entrance, keeping watch on the outside world.

"If you don't mind me asking, what's the deal with you two? The way you bickered in the crypt reminds me of two sisters… is that it?"

Frieda was silent for a long moment, eyes locked on the snow-battered landscape. Serana was about to turn away when she finally replied. "It runs deeper than that, if you must know. She made me. We carry the same blood."

Serana was a little taken aback. To her eyes, Frieda was clearly the more aggressive, more dominant personality of the pair, if also the most impulsive. She couldn't help but ask, "How did it happen?"

Frieda snapped at her. "What do you care!?"

"I'm sorry, I should know that's a… pretty personal thing." Serana apologised, "I was just curious I guess."

Frieda looked into Serana's apologetic golden eyes and sighed. "Fine. I'm sorry, I overreacted. Not used to other vampires taking any interest. Not without some ulterior motive. Judgement's still out on that by the way." She took a breath. "I grew up in Falkreath. The place is famed for its cemetery – which is fitting, since anyone worth anything there died long ago. The rest of the place is a vile pit of vile people, corrupt hypocrites ignoring their own pettiness." She spat out the words as if their very recital offended her tongue. "My father kept a tight reign on us growing up – my sister and I – and had very particular ideas about a daughter's role, and the prudish morals more important than life itself… He barely let us out of his sight when we were under his feet at home, let alone when he took us out in public. Any signs that we were growing anything resembling a spine was swiftly and brutally beaten out of us. Never the face though, he didn't want to damage his future investments. Won't be turning any heads with a broken nose now will I? It got worse after mother died."

"You don't have to continue," Serana interjected.

"Already started, no point stopping now. After I got a bit older a boy began to notice me, and I noticed him right back. One thing led to another, and we started sneaking out together, and for a while I thought I was happy. It felt like finally I had something resembling control over something, over some part of my life. I had something, someone who was mine."

Serana felt a pang of sympathy for the girl, her own lonely childhood on the island strongly resonated with Frieda's. For a moment Frieda's jaw seemed to tighten. "It carried on that way for a while, but of course it all came crashing down. I got reckless I suppose, or maybe it was inevitable, but the old cretin got word of what I'd been up to. After the beating of my life – didn't spare the face this time either – he threw me out of the house. I was soiled goods, and not even the neighbours I'd foolishly thought of as friends wouldn't meet my eye. The old man had a long arm, and sure enough neither the tavern nor the potion-maker dared to take me on. Even the old priest of Arkay wouldn't touch 'one so blackened by sin'. So I went to the one person I thought cared a jot about me – and he lost interest. Turns out I was only exciting when I was the unattainable girl, the challenge. The street waif was far less appealing." Though she clearly tried to hide it, her voice was thick with emotion.

"Within days my clothes were ragged and covered in street filth, and I was always hungry. The scraps I found by the wayside were never enough to sate that endless hunger."

"Why… why didn't you leave?" Serana asked, feeling a wave of nausea at imagining Frieda's situation. Frieda laughed then, a harsh, humourless sound. "Back then I barely knew which end of a sword to hold, and I don't know what Skyrim was like before your nap princess, but if bandits, bears or wolves don't get you, odds are the climate will. In all honesty? Because I was weak. I'd spent my whole life depending on two men, with no power, no tools of my own. It was then she found me. It was one particularly foul night. The rain had refused to stop for about a week, but at least it hid the street stench. I was sheltering under the front porch of the inn, keeping out of sight when I saw it. The sillouhette of a robed figure, standing on a street corner. I couldn't see the face, but I swear they turned towards me, a flash of white hair appearing in the spluttering torchlight."

Serana realised Frieda had gradually began to speak with an uncharacteristic tone of reverence, as if she were being carried off in a trance.

"As they turned and walked down a narrow street, I felt an odd compulsion to follow. A vague purpose in a listless existence. So I did. When I stumbled into the winding street the figure was gone, but I followed the road until houses gave way to graves. I looked around the deserted graveyard, searching restlessly, thought I had no idea what I expected to find in that wretched place. I blinked and she was there. She wore a brown, unassuming robe, she was pretty enough I suppose but it was her eyes that caught me off-guard. I was frozen hopelessly in that hypnotic stare, and as she placed one of her icy hands up to my face, she began to speak. Those words stick in my head even now.

 _It's alright. I know you Frieda. I've watched you, seen your pain, felt your suffering. Your father used you to further his position and your lover used your for a thrill. You've been powerless, overlooked and undervalued all your life. Let's say I know how that feels. I can see more than that behind your tired eyes. I see fire. This life? Well, it's over for you either way really. It ends in one of these graves. However I… I can give you a new one. One where no one can touch you – and one which will give you the chance for the sweetest revenge. It's an art – and I can teach you everything I know._

She craned my neck down so she could whisper gently in my ear.

 _You could be my daughter, if you like?_

That did it. _Yes_ , I told her. _Oh yes_. I kept on saying it as she bit into my neck in a way that sent me into ecstasy, and when she held out her bleeding wrist I finally sated that hunger which had burned for so long inside me, a hunger which only comes from true emptiness."

Serana couldn't help but be taken in by the story. "Then what happened?"

"I woke up in a coffin lined with red flowers – Wynn's favourite colour, naturally – and everything seemed clearer. I took her hand and we struck terror into the town that had turned its nose up at me for so long. It was gradual with father. Wynn deliciously pulled at threads until the tapestry of his meaningless existence came undone. He lost everything before I killed him," Frieda concluded, a voice like ice.

"Sorry to mention it, but she doesn't seem the type…"

Frieda pointed towards the sleeping figure of Aelfwynn. "That's because she isn't Wynn. She's… I don't know what she is."

"What do you mean? You said she-"

"It's complicated. Honestly, I don't fully understand it myself. All her confusion, its really starting to give me a headache…"

Serana saw the obscure pain in her crimson eyes. "You still care about her, don't you?"

"Any vampire with half a brain doesn't waste a thought on sentiment. Either it'll make you weak or get you killed. But its… complicated when it comes to blood. It's the centre of everything I guess."

Serana had to ask. "But… when it came time for your father, that didn't make you… yknow – hesitate for a moment? Even after everything he'd put you through?"

"Wynn freed me from the curse of his blood. He wasn't my father, he was prey, and he wreaked of fear and weakness. The man I grew up to fear, to hate – he was weak, and I never saw it. No kill has been quite as satisfying since." Frieda's visage shifted into a monstrous, fanged grin.

"That's… I mean I don't think I could ever see it that way. It's a little… barbaric if you ask me."

"Oh gods, not you too…"

"Hey, I'm not going into temples and crying over the dead rats I ate in some filthy hole – I know what I am," Serana snapped defensively.

After a moment she felt a pang of regret at her remarks. Aelfwynn may have been… well odd as far as the undead go, neither was she Serana's biggest admirer, but she had rescued her from Dimhollow, and she was by no means the most unpleasant vampire she had seen at her father's court. Whereas Frieda clearly felt revulsion at her sire's behaviour, Serana felt pity, and a desire to understand.

* * *

As a child, Aelfwynn had wondered why vampires insisted on sleeping in coffins. It always seemed excessively morbid, with no clear reasoning at all. When she herself joined the ranks of the undead, she swiftly found out this was not the case. Vampires on nirn were plagued by nightmares, images of death, helplessness and evil which allowed them no restful sleep. Sleeping under the earth or inside a coffin usually offered at least some release, however the dominating dreams which had haunted her since her awakening returned once more.

 _The images didn't seem to relate to her directly. She appeared merely to observe events, a stranger in her own subconscious. She saw hundreds of shadows locked in battle, swords and axes raised, hacking pieces out of each other, agonised shrieks filling the air whilst smoke rose in greasy plumes enveloping everything. Then she was in some sort of throne room. Skeletons filled the mahogany pews, and a cowled figure in black placed a crown of dragon-fangs on a familiar Nord sat on an ornate throne. It was Sihtric. The crown began to smoulder, setting the auburn hair of the dragonborn aflame, though he showed no outwards signs of pain. As flesh melted away to reveal yellowed bone, the screams became louder and louder, eventually becoming drowned out by the roar of the unstoppable flames._

They started out soon after dusk. As usual the predators of skyrim mostly gave them a wide berth, though a particularly territorial bear tromped through the undergrowth to bar their path, only to be calmed by Aelfwynn's illusion magic. Frieda looked completely baffled as she stroked the enormous creature's nose, but Serana merely smiled.

As the moons reached their peak in the sky above them, the three vampires reached the icy coast, facing west towards High Rock. The pebbled beach seemed to stretch on forever in either direction, whilst skinny trees clung onto the barren soil behind it. A thick bank of fog fell like a great wall over the sea, however several dark shapes which resembled solemn towers peeked out from behind the gaseous wall. There was no trace of wind in the silent air, as if the world was holding its breath.

"Uninviting sort of place isn't it?" Aelfwynn asked no one in particular, as she gazed out over that colourless ocean.

"Sorry if it doesn't measure up to your expectations." Serana replied, narrowing her eyes at Aelfwynn. Aelfwynn lowered her head in embarrassment, but Serana quickly put a hand on her arm.

"Hey, I was kidding. It was father's idea to put the castle here. He never… well, let's say natural beauty was never one of his priorities."

They found a rickety boat tied to a broken-down jetty further down the beach. Shortly after departing, it became apparent the vessel was not entirely watertight. It is of course in the nature of boats to leak, nonetheless Aelfwynn and Frieda were too busy cursing to take this philosophically as they bailed out the water. Between scoops of seawater, Aelfwynn kept her eyes on the opaque fog bank hanging in the air ahead, waiting for their destination to become visible. As the breaths of wind became more ragged and more frequent, the water also sprang to life, from a stagnant motionlessness to choppy turbulence. Just as Aelfwynn felt her childhood phobia of drowning begin to slowly rise from half-forgotten recollections, she caught a glimpse.

Aelfwynn was flabbergasted. She had heard Serana use the term 'castle', which gave some indication of what to expect – Aelfwynn had hardly expected the vampire in the running for the largest ego in Skyrim to live in a small hut – but the castle wasn't just on the island. It was the island. Save for the short, empty beach which appeared to be their landing point, the castle almost bulged to the point of spilling over the ancient stained rocks which guarded it from the churning waves below. The only other structure seemed to be a ruined watchtower, and an ornate stone bridge separating the main gateway from the beach.

"This? THIS - is your home?" Aelfwynn demanded.

"Yep. This is it, home sweet… castle." Serana said simply.

Aelfwynn choked on that for a few moments before continuing her accusations. "Why didn't you tell me it was so huge?" Her question felt a little silly in hindsight.

"Well…" Serana crossed her arms defensively. "I didn't want you to think I was one of those women who… you know, sat around in their castle all day? I don't know, coming from a place like this… its not really me. I hope you can believe that."

Whilst Aelfwynn continued to stare, Frieda suddenly burst into a fit of laughter.

"What's so funny?" Serana asked.

Frieda made a show of putting her head in her hands.

"Two of them!" She wailed. "There's two of them!"

Serana turned to Aelfwynn, her mouth cocked in half-smile. "You mean… you too?"

Aelfwynn faced away from the two vampires, trying to hide her face. "Well… I mean yes, but it wasn't… you know… oh never mind…" she surrendered.

Though the extra weight was fairly inconsequential for a vampire, the soaked hem of Aelfwynn's robes rather irritated her as she trudged out of the squall and onto the island. Frieda got to work tying their underwhelming transport to the sole post which seemed to still be entrenched in the ground. Aelfwynn was surprised that apparently the sole access to the island had been allowed to fall into such disrepair, and that the watchtower appeared to be empty. The local vampires could of course have been invisible, however there was no scent, no sense of any other presence this side of the bridge. Aelfwynn glanced at Serana. She said nothing as she looked around at her former home, but her expression seemed to betray a similar concern. The six gargoyles lining the bridge certainly didn't improve things.

Aelfwynn paused. She stood on what felt like the edge of the world, clinging to a slippery rock amidst dark waters. She was about to confront this madman who thought it was his right to darken this world forever and drown Tamriel in spilt blood. Aelfwynn was ashamed of the brief hungry excitement such a thought brought her.

"Hey, so before we go in there?" Serana asked, her face taking on a pained note.

"Are you all right?" Aelfwynn replied.

"I think so, and… thanks for asking. After we go in there, I'm going to go my own way for a while. I think - I need to be alone for now. There's a lot of old feelings wrapped up in this place, and I don't think you're ready for them.

Aelfwynn nodded as Serana approached the metal grate. As she moved to follow, Frieda grabbed her wrist, re-linking their minds as she did so.

 _We need to talk. Lokil knew you by sight, and that means Harkon will too. If you want to go in there, we need to do something about your looks. Got any of that illusion magic up your sleeve?_

 _If Lord Harkon is as powerful as Morcar admits he is, he'd see through it._

 _Put your armour on and pull up the hood?_

 _In a hall full of vampires who are probably all completely paranoid from trying to destroy each other?_

 _Good point._

The gears in Aelfwynn's mind began to turn as she weighed the options. Frieda could probably pass entirely unnoticed amongst them, so sending the two of them in alone could well be an option. However, there was a more devious solution.

To Frieda's surprise, Aelfwynn began to smile. Frieda hadn't seen that look in a while. Without another word she walked after Serana, leaving the howling of the wind, the crashing of the waves and the requiem of the circling bone hawks behind.


	19. Chapter 19: No Longer a Pawn

Chapter 19: No Longer a Pawn

A gentle rush of air blew into the great hall as Harkon sipped ponderously at his ornate goblet. One finger gently caressed the rim of the cup, whilst his face remained unfathomable. He was fairly certain that his recent declarations had ensured a tentative unity amongst his court, yet he could not help but notice the problems that had begun to unfurl themselves ever since. The attack on Whiterun was destined to be the peak of a campaign of terror against the mortal flock, to break what remained of their spirit. However, in reality it had in fact provoked the opposite reaction. It appears the Nords were beginning to arm themselves with silver weaponry, and the victory over the attacking vampires had seemed to serve as a rallying cry. The reports from his scouts in amongst the holds that dragons were being frequently sighted across the province were also becoming harder to ignore. Worst of all, the most important mission, the Volkihar expedition to Dimhollow crypt had gone silent. It had been too long, something had clearly gone awry. All in all, Harkon was starting to believe they had a spy in their ranks.

"My lord, everyone. Serana has returned!"

Harkon froze as he looked up. It couldn't be. His daughter strode elegantly down the staircase, her eyes first cast towards the floor, then looking up to meet his tentatively. Harkon repressed the rush of feelings seeing her again brought bubbling to the surface. Weakness and sentiment in front of his court would be shameful and foolish. Collecting himself, Harkon rose from his seat and strode towards the centre of the hall.

"My long-lost daughter returns at last. If only your traitor mother were here, I would let her watch this reunion before putting her head on a spike. I trust you have my elder scroll?"

"That's the first thing you ask me?" Serana replied, crossing her arms. "Yes I have the scroll."

She always did enjoy trying to destabilise his standing amongst the court, her mother's influence no doubt. Harkon sighed. "Of course I am delighted to see you my dear daughter… must I really say the words aloud?"

He hoped she got the message. Just then, movement above the entrance stairwells caught his eye. A short vampire stood behind the balcony, one hand on the crumbling stonework, the other curling a finger through her white hair. She looked directly at him, expressionless except for the corners of her mouth, which were turned up in the faintest hint of a smile. The robes and the amulet confirmed it of course, this was clearly Morcar's progeny. Normally it would be below him to take any interested in so base and diluted a vampire, however the opportunity her shameful behaviour presented him to subdue one of the more persistent thorns in his side was not one to pass up.

"And who is this… stranger you have brought into our hall?" Harkon smiled despite himself.

"These are my saviours, the ones who freed me."

 _Ones?_ Harkon thought.

"I'm not known for my patience. Step down into the light, both of you."

The two vampires obeyed, the taller blonde female now clearly revealed by the flickering candlelight. She had more steel in her visage than the white-haired one, who seemed oddly at ease in his presence.

"For my daughter's safe return, you have my gratitude. Now tell me, what are your names?"

The white-haired girl spoke. "Aelfwynn," she stated, emphasised with a flowing curtsey one might expect from nobility. "This is Frieda, my progeny. You must be Harkon?" That confirmed it. What game was Morcar playing here? More puzzling still, the latest he had heard from his informant inside the wretch's little cell was that she had gone completely rogue – having nothing further to do with him, let alone having sired.

"Lord Harkon" he corrected reproachfully. He then adopted a tone some might have been tempted to describe as warm. "Welcome home."

That caught her off-guard. She blinked in surprise at the welcome. _Ah_ , he thought. S _he knows I am aware of her bloodline._

"So, Aelfwynn. What reward can I offer you to equal the gift of the elder scroll and my daughter?"

Aelfwynn smiled. "I've heard you have quite an Imaginative scheme planned _Lord_ Harkon. To be blunt, I want in."

Harkon almost lost his composure at her choice of words, as if his destiny were some petty burglary. "You are well informed childe, but 'scheme' is hardly fitting."

The lord of the castle paused for a moment. He felt he had established his control over the situation, and no longer needed to perform for his court's benefit.

"Come," he ordered, in a tone which allowed no defiance, before he began to climb the stairs winding upwards from the blood-saturated hall.

Aelfwynn followed Harkon through the time-stained wooden doors. A nagging sense of uncanny familiarity continued to pervade her senses as she looked around the castle. It took the form of a strange, almost nauseous sensation which had risen from a distant awareness to a regularly chiming bell in her mind. A high vaulted ceiling rested far above her, whilst galleries ran in parallel along the edges of the vast chamber. The chamber gave her the impression of the chapels that Breton nobles often had as an extension of their opulent manors, yet scaled up to size of a cathedral. Aelfwynn was unsure whether this was a demonstration of total devotion to some dark god or merely the result of an unquenchable ego.

The question of whom the church was dedicated to was swiftly answered as Harkon approached the presumed altar. Aelfwynn felt a shiver ripple through her as she saw it. A vicious skull, horns erupting like constricting sickles from its grey sides stood suspended above a spiked font. A blood like substance flowed endlessly from its mouth, falling into the rippling crimson pool to the point of overflowing, yet none appeared to reach the floor. Not a drop. Behind the altar, harsh beams of concentrated light began to shine through narrow slitted windows. Dawn must be breaking, Aelfwynn thought to herself.

"Isn't that rather dangerous?" She asked Harkon, gesturing towards the light.

"It may appear impractical, perhaps even moronic at first," Harkon replied, stretching out his hand into the path of the dusty light. "Yet it is best to remind ourselves what is left to overcome, lest we all become complacent. Decadence comes easily to the immortal."

He turned to face Aelfwynn, his eyes boring down on her forcefully. "Now we are alone, we can dispense with the games. I apologise, I know how fond both you and your sire are of such… frivolities. I know who you are. Your activities have been of interest to me for some time."

"I didn't realise I was worthy of your attention my lord," Aelfwynn said with a smirk.

"Normally you wouldn't be," he countered smoothely. "However, since that wretch you call a sire is such a hindrance to me, keeping track of his progeny is a necessary excess of mine. As a result, I am rather… sceptical as to why you brought me such a fine gift as my daughter and the elder scroll."

"As I said my lord, I wanted what you were off-" Aelfwynn was cut off mid-word as Harkon fell upon her. His body convulsed and began to wrench upwards, stunted wings bursting from his back with a terrible sound as flesh and bone gruesomely rearranged itself. The human hand around her throat turned red, then black, before finally reforming into a grey claw. His grip threatened to snap her neck entirely.

"Do not dare to lie to my face whelp!" He threw Aelfwynn against a nearby pillar. "I am fully aware of your deviant behaviour these past nights. Why would you come to me? You, who abandoned your kin, who lived amongst mortals and shunned your own sire. A sire who has been… duly chastised for his negligence."

Aelfwynn raised her face from the floor. "Isn't that a shame?" She asked, spreading her lips into a suggestive, bloody grin.

Harkon stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment, before his expression began to shift, changing first to bewilderment, and then again towards amusement. As he began to retake his regular form, Harkon began to guffaw, a delighted roar which could not help but fill Aelfwynn with dread, despite her best efforts to remain in control of the volatile situation.

"It appears I have misjudged you fledgling. Your ambition will serve you well here – if tempered somewhat with caution." He stroked his beard in thought. "Very well, I will take you on as my servant."

"Your servant?" Aelfwynn scoffed, spitting blood onto the cathedral floor. He curled one corner of his lips upwards into a smirk.

"Naturally. You haven't yet earned the privilege of being my pet."

Aelfwynn didn't even try to conceal her loathing glare. Once again Harkon merely chuckled. "Serve me well, know your place, and what you desire most will be yours."

"And what is it I desire most?"

"What all of our kind crave. Power and blood. And none is more potent than what I offer."

Harkon strode towards the open doors, placing a hand against the worn wood, facing away from Aelfwynn. "As you are a _baser_ vampire, feel free to use coffins and thralls at your discretion. I will summon you when I have the need."

As he passed out of her vision, Aelfwynn felt a strange conflict within her. Each time Harkon referred to her in these belittling, derogatory terms she felt her blood start to simmer. Why on nirn should she care about a Vampire lord insulting the potency of her blood? His words shouldn't be able to touch her, and yet…

As Aelfwynn entered the great hall, the aroma threatened to overwhelm her senses. The very air was alive with a pulsing warmth, inhaling it felt like tasting the first drops of a heady Cyrodiilic wine. She saw Frieda sat at one of the long tables, tearing into the neck of a thrall lying on his back whilst amicably maintaining a conversation with a scarred female Nord beside her. Though her victim's face spoke only of damnation, he did not seem to respond to Frieda's bites. Aelfwynn's heart screamed at her to feel some revulsion, but her body spoke only of need, of hunger.

In that moment she realised the obvious. If Aelfwynn was going to navigate the tightrope she had placed herself on by deceiving Harkon, she was going to have to go on alone. Frieda was a liability. She would betray Aelfwynn sooner or later, for power or position, or perhaps merely to save her own hide. After all, it's what Wynn would do. Sentiment for sentiment's sake would only get you killed, or forge another binding link in the chain which the dark gift broke in the first place. Though Aelfwynn now rejected the idea, she still understood its cold logic.

Three days passed, and Harkon still hadn't called for her. Sleep had been mercifully quiet the past few days, and the embrace of the coffin was almost comforting to her. Though most of Harkon's court considered themselves above direct conversation, she had managed a few guarded conversations. To Aelfwynn's eye, the court appeared to be separated into two groups; the schemers and the pawns. The schemers, such as Harkon's advisors Orthjolf and Vingalmo were perpetually locked in a game of strategy, endlessly manoeuvring to undermine or outperform the other. The pawns were the pieces they moved. They may well have ambitions of their own, waiting for their masters to slip up or lose favour, and therefore move up the bloody pole towards power, but others seemed to merely be content to kill and drink. Others, such as Garan Merethi, seemed to avoid the two camps entirely by serving Harkon with loyalty and competence, and showing nothing but contempt towards the schemers.

Of all of the vampires here, Ronthil was the one who really stood out to Aelfwynn. Not only was he one of the few vampires whose motives and position didn't appear to be already written into her awareness on some level, but he appeared distinctly… unusual. Humble was hardly a trait prevalent amongst the undead, to the contrary it was effectively unknown. What was worse was that the more Aelfwynn talked with him, the more she came to realise with growing horror that his eager-to-please attitude was genuine.

She felt rather sorry for him. He had first approached her shortly after she awoke in the castle for the first time. Aelfwynn, feeling directionless had nestled in amongst the bookshelves above Feran Sadri's alchemy lab. He didn't seem to mind, Aelfwynn's presence in the vicinity gave him an excuse to talk to himself about the various mixtures he experimented with, and she rather quickly got the impression he enjoyed the sound of his own voice more than holding any mutual conversation. She picked a book with a purple cover off the shelf, dislodging plumes of gathered dust onto the balcony, slowly falling through the still air. Opening it, she read the title.

 _Immortal Blood. Hmm, figures._

She had read it before of course. Over a decade ago, as a reckless child climbing the rickety stepladders in the stern library of her parents' home, but Aelfwynn often found that familiarity brings comfort, so before she knew it, she was falling into the story of Movarth Piquine and his tireless quest to rid Tamriel of the vampiric scourge. In a way it seemed rather appropriate. It was there, several pages in, that Aelfwynn saw a plume of red hair emerging over the crest of her book.

"Hey there… is there anything you need?" a voice almost squeaked.

Aelfwynn lowered the book to her lap, looking quizzically at the visitor. His Bosmer ears were especially prevalent, and his sheepish grin somehow made his austere red vampire armour actually look cheerful. She contained the urge to laugh at this absurdity. Aelfwynn shook her head with a smile.

"If I'm not disturbing you madame, may I ask what you're reading?"

 _Madame?_ Aelfwynn thought, deciding she rather liked how that sounded. She closed the book, turning the cover to face him.

His eyes widened a little with recognition. "Ah, that one. What do you think so far?"

"Actually, it's an old favourite of mine. Though it's strange, I remember that back when I was young I thought it ended differently."

"Oh, really? Lets see…" He nibbled on a knuckle ponderously for a moment. The old priest kills Movarth while he lets his guard down, right? After he's earned his trust and respect."

"Well… I see it as kind of ambiguous. The author rather simply writes ' _I haven't fed in seventy-two hours, I explained as I fell on him. He did not strike the first blow nor the last._ ' To me at least it always seemed as if the vampire collapsed in starvation from refusing to give into his evil nature, and Movarth refused to strike him down having realised not all vampires are monsters."

The elf cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. "Huh, never thought of it that way. Nice idea if… well if Movarth himself didn't visit the Lord's court on occasion."

Aelfwynn stared at him blankly.

"I know right? Turns out he runs some vampire coven in Morthal. I couldn't believe it first time I heard it. Myth becoming reality – in a way."

"Funny," Aelfwynn agreed. "You could say the same thing about us."

The Bosmer smiled nervously, lowering his face.

"I'm Aelfwynn by the way" she offered, trying to set him at ease.

"Ronthil," he replied.

"So Ronthil, what do you do around here?"

"Me? Umm, well… whatever is required! I'm happy to do whatever is asked of me. I only wish to be useful. Often I take on tasks that Garan or Feran find distasteful, or... beneath them. If I can remain useful, those above me will see fit to keep me here."

It was at that precise moment she realised he was doomed.

Eventually, on the afternoon of the third day, the silence from Harkon came to an end. All of a sudden, Vingalmo loomed arrogantly over her favourite spot, casting his gaunt, pointy-eared shadow over the pages of her current read.

"Lord Harkon requires your presence. Immediately. Do not presume to keep your betters waiting," The high elf spat, having already walked away before Aelfwynn could meet his demeaning gaze.

The beast in her felt a dire need to make him pay for those insults. _Position again?_ Aelfwynn did her best to shake these unhelpful thoughts from her mind and began the ascent towards Harkon's chambers.

The iron-bolstered door creaked burdensomely as it swung open into the sparsely adorned room. A coffin dominated the room, sitting atop a severe staircase. And two chairs sat protectively around a concise, burning fireplace. Aelfwynn recoiled from the fire's oppressive heat, placing a hand in front of her face.

"Fascinating, isn't it?" Harkon stated, gazing deep into the scorching wisps. "The flames give the mortals comfort, hope and warmth, yet to us it is terror and death."

"Another reminder?" Aelfwynn asked, forcing herself to take a step closer to the flames.

"And a lesson. By ceasing to fear the flames, I have gained control of the situation. They hold no power over me. Please, sit."

Surprised by the well-mannered invitation, Aelfwynn did so, trying to ignore the invasive heat of the fire burning less than two feet away.

"As a matter of courtesy, I decided to inform you that your progeny is being put to good use."

Aelfwynn tensed. "Good use?" She quickly remembered to add a 'my lord' for good measure.

"Yes. She seems to have fallen in well with the more bloodthirsty members of my court, so I am trusting her to my underlings. The attacks on Skyrim's holds have run into… difficulties, and we cannot pause to give the mortals time to regather their strength. She may do quite well for herself – as long as she survives."

Aelfwynn began to protest, but Harkon silenced her with a single raise of his hand.

"You mistake me Aelfwynn. This is not a debate. I do not need your permission, nor do I want your opinion on this matter. Her path has been chosen, as for that matter, has yours."

Aelfwynn stiffened her posture, whilst adopting an imperious expression.

"Then may I ask what you want of me my lord?"

Harkon turned his towards her, the fire reflecting in his eyes.

"Seek out Garan Merethi. Simply tell him: 'it is time'."


	20. Chapter 20: Faith and Despair

_Author's Note: Apologies for the long stint between chapters! I've always been a person of sudden enthusiasms, and find it rather hard to write when they're focused on something else. However, the next chapter is already on its way, and should be up soon._

Chapter 20: Faith and Despair

The dead leaves crackled under Aelfwynn's feet as she wondered the lonely roads of the nocturnal Rift. She ran her pale fingers over the rough surface of the chalice, absent-mindedly tracing the complex engravings which marked its ageless surface. As she walked, Aelfwynn pondered how long it had presumably taken some patient vampire to craft such an artefact. She had observed how vampires could often demonstrate such extraordinary patience once they set their mind to a task or project, however such dedication to elegance and artistry was only ever used in the pursuit of power.

"You're right," a frustratingly familiar voice drawled from somewhere above her. "You, on the other hand, saw that there was more to death."

Morcar grinned as he slid along a barren branch and landed onto the grassy floor, making no sound as he did so. Aelfwynn felt a wave of disgust pass over her. She hated every attempt Morcar made to connect her own thoughts to that of the monster he made her.

"Are you sure that's wise?" Aelfwynn snapped, crossing her arms. "I'm almost certain Harkon's sent someone to keep an eye on me."

"Oh he did. Unfortunately, they had an accident with a pack of vicious bears just outside Ivarstead."

"That was unlucky," Aelfwynn stated drily.

"I've always had a way with luck." Morcar sniggered. Leaning in closely, he began to whisper conspiratorially. "Now the pleasantries are out of the way, do you mind telling me where the elder scroll is daughter dearest? I believe that was our agreement."

Aelfwynn refused to let his veiled threats unnerve her. "I never agreed to anything Morcar. As I recall I told you to stay away from me."

"Yes, but that was just one of your little… dramatic turns surely? Despite your barbs, you did exactly as I asked, no?" His features contorted into a cruel grimace.

"But not for you. For _them_. For this." Aelfwynn gestured, putting one hand over her amulet before quickly shaking away the scalding burn. His thoughts on that were as clear as her own. She'd help protect the flame even as it burned her. Madness.

"Regardless, it wasn't just the scroll in Dimhollow. You failed to predict that Harkon's daughter was in there too."

"Serana?" His tone failed to match his impassive, unreadable expression.

"You know her?" Aelfwynn asked, her curiosity piqued.

"I met her a few times yes. A long, long time ago. Through necessity, she and my sire were… close."

Aelfwynn made a mental note of that fact. Morcar almost never talked about his sire, curious that they apparently knew Serana. From the way he described the length of time, perhaps he had lost his sire centuries, even millennia ago. Aelfwynn knew such feelings, regardless of one's personal opinions were always complicated when it came to the one who made them. Her mind now focusing on Serana, she continued.

"Frieda and I decided that rushing her for the scroll wasn't an option. Morcar, the clouded daylight didn't touch her. How on nirn is that possible?"

His expression darkened. "She's a daughter of Coldharbour. A pure-blood vampire, like her father."

Aelfwynn ran a finger through her hair pensively. "Pure-blooded. You don't mean…"

"Oh yes." Morcar finished, "They have the undiluted blood of Molag Bal mixed with their own. The most potent there is. You most likely made the right decision, although in truth Serana isn't nearly as dangerous as her father. Too easily… affected by things going on around her. So, naturally you go along with her and take her home yes? And from the looks of that chalice in your hand…" He snatched it from her grasp and began to examine it. "… I'm assuming you've worked your way into our lord and master's good books. How ever did you get him to trust you, especially in your present… condition?"

Aelfwynn's eyes narrowed at Morcar's remark, as if he were defining her very existence as some sort of disease. Her hands almost instinctually slid up to their customary position on her hips.

"I walked in and asked to join him."

Morcar nearly started choking. Aelfwynn smiled sweetly, glad to finally turn the tables on him.

"He was naturally suspicious of course. He especially seems to dislike you 'father'. Can't think why… He said you'd been punished for my actions, so I took the opportunity to suggest that the entire thing was a scheme to undermine and replace you."

There was a wonderful silence for several moments.

"You're trying to tell me you believe you got away with deceiving, with manipulating the most powerful vampire in Skyrim?" Morcar asked, as if in a daze.

Aelfwynn nodded slightly, her expression taking a slightly unbelieving note as she processed the insanity of what she'd done, at the time without giving so much as a second thought.

Aelfwynn couldn't even protest before Morcar smothered her in his cold embrace. For a moment her guard softened, until she heard a terrible whisper in her ear. "I always knew you'd come back… my Wynn."

Aelfwynn pulled herself out of his arms violently, her body beginning to shake with horror. As her sire took a step towards her she formed a spell in her hand threateningly.

"No, you just – just stay away from me!"

His sudden laughter merely enhanced her anger. Morcar raised his hands in mock surrender. "Oh, its of no matter now Wynnie dear. Best you let our putrid lord and master have his cup, from what I've read, its powers are rather limited, and don't last forever. The chalice is of little importance in the grander scheme." He let the chalice fall into the crisp grass with a muted thud.

"Don't worry about a thing, I'll be keeping an eye out for you here and there. Personally, I can't wait to see what you'll do next. I have… _faith_ in you." And with that, the spectre of Aelfwynn's darkest fears melded with the shadows around him, chuckling softly all the while.

Alone and lost, Aelfwynn let out a maddened shriek and began to tear her claws against the sparse trees around her. Her anger was directed at herself more than her sire. The truth she had begun to accept in the Dragonsreach dungeon was becoming undeniable – the beast was still influencing her thoughts and actions, whilst Aelfwynn was not even aware of it. She struck blow after blow until the boughs began to break and bend, and those ancient, unoffending lives were snuffed out.

Aelfwynn didn't even try to resist as the gate-guards shook her down for the few tarnished coins she carried. The city of thieves earned its name that evening. Shadowy figures, unseen by mortal eyes darted out of alleys and into homes with cold efficacy, as beggars huddled together to resist the cold beneath spluttering streetlights. With crime and suffering raging all around them, still the guards refused to see the rotten home they were pretending to protect.

Aelfwynn aimlessly followed the winding walkways, running her white hands along the splintering railings, and attempted to numb herself to the memories of her last visit. Riften had been the first major destination after her turning in Windhelm, and a city with an extensive network of tunnels connecting all over the city offered a fledgling vampire an all-too tempting opportunity to spin larger and more complex webs of suffering.

Eventually, the building seemed to find her. Aelfwynn paused before Skyrim's only temple to Mara, a warm beacon nestled within the icy city. The recently lit braziers on either side of the intricately carved wooden doors dripped thawing tears as the ice which had greedily engulfed the iron bases fell away, transforming the stairs down to the street into a gentle stream.

It was as if Aelfwynn had been somehow unconsciously avoiding this place since the beginning. In keeping with temple practice, she should have presented herself and her intentions at this temple before beginning her work - Matriarch Voadette had explained in no uncertain terms what her duties required of her.

But she never did. The moment she got on that ship, watched Daggerfall's coastline fade into the misty horizon, it was as if the chains which had bound her every move, that had planned every moment of every day of her life for over ten years were broken. She could pursue her calling in her own way, go out into Tamriel and help the people who needed it, rather than leafing through rotting tomes and helping sappy nobles in their petty romances. In hindsight, it seemed strange that later as a vampire Wynn had left this place alone. Her vindictive mockery of Aelfwynn's mortal life should have made this place the first target, yet she had apparently never done so. Suddenly the scent of warm blood filled her nose.

"What ails you child?" a feminine voice asked from the darkness.

Aelfwynn turned to see a hooded figure strolling along the walkway ahead of her, holding her torch like a beacon. She lowered her hood as she stepped into the torchlight. She was a Dunmer, however her face seemed to lack the almost customary guarded hostility lined into the very definition of their brows. Even her red eyes seemed impossibly gentle. Her attire mirrored Aelfwynn's closely, right down to the amulet of Mara suspended above her heart. This did not appear lost on the Dunmer, who smiled warmly.

"Are you new to this benevolence? From one of our sister temples perhaps?"

"Yes, I mean no." Aelfwynn stuttered, panic rising in her voice. "I mean… sort of. I'm sorry, its all rather complicated, and I'm really not making a lot of sense here am I?"

"Child, you're shaking. Why don't you come inside for a while?" The priestess put a hand behind Aelfwynn's back, gently shepherding her towards the temple steps. Aelfwynn turned her hooded face away, hiding from the priestess' gaze.

"I don't think I can. I don't think I have any right to."

The woman took on a focused expression, tinged with pity at Aelfwynn's obvious distress at this seemingly small choice. "Why would you say that girl? Mara's mercy is ever-flowing."

It all began to blurt out in rapid succession, her prior caution fading as she turned to face the other woman squarely. "I've failed, failed our Goddess. I strayed from the path she laid out for me, I derelicted my duty. I lost my way for so long and I lost myself. I was wicked and…" her voice dissolved into a stream of irrepressible sobs.

The angular, elven eyes began to focus on her then, the pupils tracing the shallow concave shape of Aelfwynn's tear-stained cheeks, her sharper features and her deep-set, unsated eyes. Her mind seeming to note the unnatural white pallor of Aelfwynn's unnaturally flawless skin, and that her hand on the Breton's back seemed to detect no warmth. No life.

Aelfwynn saw the familiar emotions flicker across the Dunmer's face. Curiosity, confusion, shock and then panic. It would be only moments before she either screamed, attacked, or called for the guards. She'd seen it many times. Far too many.

Knowing she likely only had moments, Aelfwynn clutched the amulet around her own neck. As her skin began to crack and burn, and smoke began to viciously foul the air, she closed her eyes and began to speak.

"Live soberly and peacefully. Honour your parents, and preserve the peace and security of home and family."

The panic froze on the Dunmer's face. Encouraged by this, Aelfwynn continued the timeless prayer.

"To receive the touch of Mara, you must first act as her hands in the world, for not all can hear the broad echoes of deepest dawn."

The elf twisted her head from one side to another in conflict. Finally she took Aelfwynn's burnt hand and began to examine it with a kind of wonder. "You best come inside. I'll see what I can find for that hand."


	21. Chapter 21: Divided We Fall

Chapter 21: Divided we Fall

Jarl Balgruuf glared over the Dragonsreach balcony with uncharacteristic, quiet pensiveness. His knuckles had long turned white from his iron grip on the balcony, and although beacons burned either side of him, his bare arms couldn't help but shiver from the cold of night. He stared out into the hold below, and for a moment it seemed as if Whiterun was the only settlement in Skyrim. The only light in the gathered dark, huddling from turbulent storm clouds circling ominously. He had spent the best part of the day inspecting the defences, making sure the newly stationed legionaries had everything they needed, and trying to broker some agreement between Commander Caius and the Imperial Legate as to who was ultimately in command. He'd settled the matter by pointedly stating that their relation to each other was irrelevant, as whilst they were based in Whiterun they answered to him. Their muttered curses at his intervention were much easier on the mind than the boisterous verbal brawling.

Prior to the last few days, things had been greatly improving. Bolstered by the victories against the vampires and the dragon, the panic which had seeped in amongst the populace seemed to have been replaced by a confident resolve. Even the issue of the escaped vampire had been smoothed over quickly enough. Balgruuf realised it may hurt their wounded spirits, but he was hardly going to tell a bare-faced lie to his friends and subjects – though he elected not to name the one who clearly helped her. From the few weeks Balgruuf had known him, the dragonborn had demonstrated a stalwart and unyielding loyalty to those who he had fought with, even when in his mind such strong feelings were dangerously misplaced. He didn't hold a grudge against Sihtric for what he may have done in releasing the girl however. If men began punishing men for doing what they thought was right or honourable, who would be left to hold Skyrim true to itself?

Then again, stubborn adherence to a man's own beliefs in the righteousness of his cause now brought Balgruuf to his current darkened state of mind, in more than one regard:

 _The day had begun with the promise of normality. Disagreements between neighbours were settled, Farengar gave his progress report on uncovering the nature of these dragons, before the jarl had briefly overseen the guards in honing their archery skills on airborne moving targets – whilst Aela the Huntress looked on sternly. It gladdened Balgruuf's heart to see the higher level of cooperation which had emerged between the city and the Companions since the recent troubles. Often in the past they had been reserved, reclusive even from the rest of the city, but now in these darker times when heroes were most needed, they had stepped up to show the people of Whiterun that they need not cower in fear, and to hold their heads high._

 _Half-way through the afternoon, he heard a familiar voice._

" _I seek an audience with the jarl. I have a message for him. It's urgent."_

 _Balgruuf turned his eyes away from Avenicci's flawless yet mind-numbing records. A smile crept unbidden across his face at seeing the lithe figure of the dragonborn standing before him, after a noted absence from Dragonsreach. He wore the mark of the road heavily upon him. His wolf armour displayed faint stains of dirt and blood, and dark, weary shadows loomed under his bright green eyes._

" _What is it my friend?" The jarl asked, rising to his feet and closing the distance between them. The dragonborn reached behind him and offered Balgruuf an ornate steel axe._

" _Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak asked me to deliver this to you my jarl."_

 _Balgruuf took the axe, feeling its weight in both hands._

" _Did he now? Hmph. The man is persistent, I'll give him that. I suppose it's time I gave him an answer…"_

 _Balgruuf turned to his steward. "Proventus, what do you make of all this? If Ulfric were to attack Whiterun…"_

 _Avenicci spread his hands. "As in all things lord, caution. I urge us to wait and see."_

" _Prey waits." Irileth interjected._

" _I'm of a mind with Irileth." Balgruuf said, before letting out a small sigh. "It's time to act," he continued._

" _You plan to march on Windhelm?" Avenicci asked, his eyes widening in excitement._

" _I'm not a fool Proventus! I mean its time to challenge Ulfric to face me as a man, or march his stormcloaks up to the gates."_

 _Suddenly, Sihtric made a show of clearing his throat. "My Jarl," he began. "may I speak with you?" His eyes darted between Avenicci and Irileth. "Privately?"_

 _The Jarl noticed the concern, confusion tightly woven into his tired face. However, this was hardly the time for personal concerns. This 'message' required immediate action._

" _I'm sorry friend, but can't it wait? This matter is, as I'm sure you can see, rather pressing – for all of us." He said, raising the axe to emphasise his point._

" _My lord, it concerns the present situation." Sihtric replied with unusual curtness, none of the usual irreverent mirth in his tone. "I think you're making a terrible mistake."_

 _Balgruuf stiffened on his throne, raising his head back slightly. "Well then, it's fortunate for you I appreciate directness. I'm sure my advisors are as keen as I to hear your concerns in this matter."_

 _Sihtric glanced a little nervously at Irileth and Proventus, clearly uncomfortable at the sudden attention boring down on him from atop the throne steps. He quickly tried to dispel the tension. "My jarl… as you know I prefer action to words, so forgive me if I cannot match the eloquence of your court."_

 _Balgruuf smiled at that._

" _But when we discussed the war in the past, you always took a balanced position. You told me you were on the side of Whiterun, of the best interests of your people."_

 _The Jarl nodded, his face neutral._

 _Sihtric continued, confidence building in his voice. "I've always respected you for that. You told me that both sides in this war called out for your allegiance, and that each of them had a fair point when asking for your support – yet now despite your words I see you allowing your imperial steward to steer you towards his cause – without even stopping to consider giving the kinsman who trusted you with his axe a fair hearing."_

" _Proventus, Irileth, leave us." The tone in the jarl's voice brooked no opposition._

 _Balgruuf felt a foul taste in his mouth. Was the dragonborn really so naïve that he could believe that Ulfric was somehow the noble, wronged party in all this? He sensed old, bitter feelings beginning to bloom alongside half-forgotten memories._

" _I once told you that it's important for a man not to allow his feelings to cloud his judgement," the Jarl said, in a voice not unlike a man addressing his children. "You did once before, I recall. Yes, I'm no fool thane, I know you had a hand in the vampire's escape."_

" _We owed her at least that much" Sihtric breathed softly._

" _And I forgave you boy. I wasn't going to lock you up for doing what you thought was right. I just don't want to see you putting your faith in the wrong person, again."_

" _She helped us, helped save us twice over, and you still think she deserved death?"_

 _Balgruuf wished he could make the younger man see the larger picture. "More than the innocents who come across that poor, half-maddened creature when next she loses control."_

" _Perhaps." Sihtric replied, conflict still thick in his throat. "But I hardly think that I alone can be accused of letting my feelings interfere Jarl Balgruuf. Your… troubled history with the Jarl of Windhelm is well known."_

 _After a few moments of shocked silence, the jarl began to speak in barely more than a raised whisper._ _"You know, I thought better of you. Do you think Ulfric really cares about Skyrim's independence, or the welfare of its people? I promise you, he doesn't. He's nothing more than a barbarian renegade, whose lust for power has already cost the lives of countless innocents!"_

 _Sihtric's voice echoed the Jarl's fury. "If you truly knew the man, if you sat across a table with him, fought by his side you'd know otherwise. A Nord does not inspire half of his kingdom to rise up with 'lust for power' in his heart, nor he does not risk his life leading them into battle at Darkwater Crossing!"_

" _I think I've heard enough. That will be all for now, dragonborn" the jarl stated with finality._

 _Sihtric struggled to regain his composure, holding his hands up and lowering his voice to a semblance of calm. "My Jarl. I delved to the depths of Bleak falls Barrow in your service, I fought outlaws and draugr to retrieve the means to fight these dragons. When you asked me to challenge a dragon that was threatening your…_ _ **our**_ _city, I volunteered without question, even though in my heart I was almost certain it would lead to my death. Please, for all I have done for you and for Whiterun, for the trust and the friendship I've earned, at least consider speaking with Ulfric."_

 _The jarl rose to his feet, descended the small flight of steps, stopping directly in front of Sihtric. "Is that what the esteemed Jarl of Windhelm wanted you to tell me? He wants to 'talk things over'?"_

" _Actually, he told me that sometimes, there is no need for words between men who understand each other."_

" _Then perhaps, on this rare occasion, Ulfric isn't deluding himself." Balgruuf shoved the hefty axe into the Dragonborn's hands. "There's my answer. Make sure he gets it."_

Balgruuf remembered watching from the corner of his eye as the shadow of his former friend turned and quickly exited the keep, and thinking he saw silent fury in his stride. It was only a matter of time now. Ulfric had played his hand openly, he wanted Whiterun, its allegiance or its submission, and Balgruuf's refusal of the former meant that the Stormcloaks would have to act fast before Whiterun could bolster its supplies and fortify its position. Luckily, General Tullius was clearly prepared to move on Whiterun at a moment's notice. The walls were old, but they still held firm, and Balgruuf doubted that Ulfric would be able to commit the number of forces necessary to maintain a siege of this scale.

At that moment, a soft flutter glided through the air, and a small, speckled bird landed on the balcony beside him. A small piece of parchment was tied around one of its delicate legs. The Jarl untied the string and held it up to the torchlight.

 _Movement in the Pale_.

"And so it begins" the Jarl stated to no-one, before burning the message in the flame.


	22. Chapter 22: Benevolence

Chapter 22: Benevolence

"My name is Dinya Balu" the Dunmer said as she sat Aelfwynn down on the front pew of the chapel. "I'll see to your wound, if you'll just give me a moment to speak to my husband about your stay."

 _Stay?_ Aelfwynn thought. Obviously, her most recent benefactor had made some decisions. She wasn't complaining, it wasn't as if she had entered Riften with any purpose or destination, just an odd, shambling compulsion to keep walking. Whatever it was, it seemed to have faded. Whilst Dinya began to converse with a robed Redguard, Aelfwynn stared into the eyes of the weeping goddess, hovering somewhere between reverence, love and fear.

Aelfwynn's acute hearing mostly centred around the enticing thump of the priests' hearts, however she heard enough snatches of their conversation to understand the generalities. Maramal – presumably the head of this benevolence – seemed resistant to the idea of letting a 'fallen one' as he called her remain in a sacred place, yet Dinya seemed to soothe his fears with the idea that Mara must have sent her. Aelfwynn wished that were true. She had been sent to Riften hold by a mad monster in search of more power, and she had wondered into the city subconsciously, by complete chance. After Maramal was satisfied, Dinya left the main chapel for a moment, swiftly returning with a small satchel in hand.

Kneeling on the wooden floor in front of her, Dinya uncurled Aelfwynn's recently burned hand, then reached for a bottle currently peeking out of her bag.

"It won't work," Aelfwynn sighed, moving her hand away. "Potions require a living body to work with, and restoration magic rejects a vampire much like sunlight."

"The light of aetherius, in magic and sunlight. It is… fitting, if unfortunate in this case. How may you be healed, child?"

"It'll heal itself in a while. Burns are worse than most, though it depends on how… sated I am."

"I see." Dinya swiftly moved past the subject. "Maramal has agreed to let you stay for a while, under certain… conditions."

Aelfwynn nodded, her face still strangely numb.

"To begin with you'll have to be kept somewhere…. somewhere safe. For now, the lower levels of our benevolence will have to serve." Dinya finished, before taking Aelfwynn by the hand, leading her deeper into Mara's sanctum.

* * *

The dead may have been interred within the Riften hall of the dead, but they certainly weren't resting in peace. Whilst Aelfwynn's sojourn in the bowels of the temple were certainly allowing her the time to properly reflect and pray, her new 'roommate' was certainly testing the limits of her patience.

Alessandra was an Imperial. Unlike many of the pale residents of Skyrim, her skin seemed lightly kissed by southern sun, with dark hair tied up severely in a tight bun. She would have, in Aelfwynn's opinion, been considered something of a beauty, if it wasn't for the fact that her Iliac-blue eyes were marred by the scowl which had decided to perpetually roost on her face. The Hall of the Dead echoed with sounds of her frustrated mutterings, often devolving into curses when she often dropped one of her implements, or inadvertently smashed a small ceramic urn against the uncaring stone floor.

It was at one of these such moment that Aelfwynn snapped awake from a rewardingly dark and dreamless sleep, narrowly avoiding bashing her head against the stone shelf above her. She rose into a sitting position hanging off the edge of the shelf, repressed the dry ache in her throat and watched Alessandra begin to sweep up her latest victim. She seemed completely unphased by having woken Aelfwynn with no warning.

"So," Aelfwynn began, "Does anybody else help out with…?"

The dam broke. Clutching her broom menacingly, Alessandra began to scold Aelfwynn. "If you're trying to ask if I tend the hall of the dead alone, then the answer is yes. You think anyone around here is going to lift a shovel to help me? Guess again. 'Leave the dirty work to old Alessandra.' Look, I didn't ask for this job, I got stuck with it thanks to my father."

Of course. It always had to come back to fathers. "Your father?" Aelfwynn inquired, in a slightly resigned tone.

Alessandra seemed surprised at Aelfwynn taking any interest. "Yeah. My father was a Priest of Arkay. All my life was spent around the dead, being forced to learn the proper burial rituals and prayers. I never had any friends; who'd want to spend time with 'the little weird girl who hangs around dead people?' So I grew up with a miserable trade. This is all I know how to do... prepare and inter the deceased."

"Well, I mean if you need a friend, or just someone to talk to…"

"You don't count! You're dead! That's probably why _they,"_ she gestured upwards with her free hand "saddled me with you in the first place!"

 _I beg your pardon?_ Aelfwynn thought, trying to suppress the anger beginning to rise within her. This self-pitying creature wasn't worth it. She remembered the guards outside her Whiterun cell all too well, and she was painfully aware of her last visit to a temple. She decided to leave Alessandra to her duties and her recriminations, deciding to leaf through Danica's restoration tome to pass the time.

It wasn't too long before Dinya came for her. Aelfwynn saw the smiling Dunmer holding the door expectantly. She closed the book and stood.

"Where are we going?"

Dinya crossed her arms. "Child, how long has it been since you have visited one of Lady Mara's temples? No matter. First, we pray. Then if you are willing, I would very much like to speak with you for a while."

All the priests, as well as surprisingly several of the townspeople were present at the ceremony. Aelfwynn was surprised that in a town like Riften, hope for love and compassion could endure. Maramal officiated with passionate address before the gathering lowered their heads in prayer. After a minute of silence, Aelfwynn heard a gentle whistling in the air. Opening her eyes, she saw floating threads of golden lights flowing through the eyes of the Goddess, before passing over Maramal's raised arms and then into the congregation. As the ethereal wisps passed into her chest Aelfwynn inhaled in shock. For a single moment, she thought she felt her heart take a single, faltering beat. For a moment the ache, the hunger faded away and she felt… almost human. She hardly noticed the several strange looks in her direction.

"Through our love for Mara, and through our devotion and love for each other is her blessing given. So accept her gift with all your hearts." Maramal lowered his arms, and slowly the gathering began to dissolve away from each other, and back into their diffuse lives.

After the hall was mostly empty, barring Maramal and a blonde Nord attendant slowly extinguishing the mounted candles which lined the chapel, Aelfwynn considered Dinya's offer. Why not? She hadn't had the opportunity to just sit down with someone she could trust and just… confess. Confess her thoughts and her feelings to one who would listen. Her experience with Frieda in Dimhollow had seemed to be the ending of that possibility. But perhaps this would be an opportunity to move forward.

Aelfwynn followed Dinya into the next room, closing the door behind her. The humility of the priesthood hadn't changed. Two simple, single beds lined with thin furs, a single unlit candle on a desk between them. Sunlight filtered in through a window on the far side, landing onto the bed on which Dinya set. She motioned for Aelfwynn to sit on the other, fortunately still in shadow.

"So," Aelfwynn began, "what do you want to know?"

Dinya's benevolent smile widened. "Everything, child."

Aelfwynn quickly discovered that wasn't an understatement.

* * *

Dinya listened as her newest charge began to unfurl the tapestry of her life. She had to admit, the idea that even a vampire could seek Mara's blessing and forgiveness gave new flame to the passion of her faith, opening up new galleries of possibility. Only a few years ago, as a refugee fleeing the doom which fell upon Morrowind she could barely hope for the next meal, but now under the guidance of Mother Mara she was constantly discovering new avenues for ever greater hopes. First her new purpose as a priestess, then her love for Maramal, their child now growing within her, and now a creature of night turning away from darkness.

So, she listened as this girl, barely more than a child to her eyes, told the story of her life, her death, her dark rebirth and her realisation of the light. She was evasive around specifics of her time as a creature of the night, but Dinya decided now was not the time to push her on details of her sins. Full confession may come in time, and from that, closure. Her tales of Vampire Lords and Dragon attacks certainly disturbed her, but Dinya tried to put that to one side for a moment. Aelfwynn had to be her priority for now.

"The way you speak about how you became a vampire, it's as if you feel it wasn't really you in control, like someone else took over."

"You have no idea how much I want to believe that."

"But you still blame yourself?"

"It's hard to explain.. I remember it. All of it, but its more than that. I wish I could explain…" She put her head in her hands for a moment, clearly grappling with the complexity of an idea which was consuming her. "I remember how it felt to be her, to be 'Wynn'. I remember how good it felt, how I saw everything so clearly from the moment I woke up in the Windhelm Hall of the dead. My entire life fell into a new context, but it was still my hatreds she felt, it was my anger at the disregard people showed me, my suspicion that my parents had sent me off to the temple forcing that choice on me. Her evil all came from me."

"As if _she_ brought out all your worst impulses?"

"But it didn't feel like that at the time. It felt like justice, it felt like freedom. It felt like I had power over others for the first time in my life. No one would direct or control me anymore"

"So that's why you think you gave in to this 'Morcar' and became a vampire? You wanted… freedom?"

"I've tried to tell myself I just didn't want to die. You should know that we are expected to lay down our lives for our goddess without doubts, but I felt I deserved more. I deserved life. I just didn't realise what it would cost."

Dinya felt a wave of sympathy for the girl. "Who is to say none of us would doubt? To be moments from death, I'm sure I can't imagine what that choice was like. You know, its rather fitting in a way."

"How do you mean?"

"Our scriptures teach that Molag Bal, the father of all your kind is the lord of domination. It makes sense that his children would believe the only freedom they could ever have is by dominating others, all the time unwittingly playing into being his servant."

Aelfwynn began to softly chuckle. "My sire would say that that's no different to who I served before. So if those are my choices, if that's all I can be, then what Dinya, what is 'freedom'?"

"Truly? A difficult question child. But the closest thing the gods have granted us? Choice. Perhaps that is what our lady did if she truly restored your true self. Gave you the ability to choose freely. So that's what it comes down to, sister in Mara. What do _you_ want?"

With that, Dinya rose from the bed and put her hand on Aelfwynn's crossed hands. "Think on that."

* * *

Aelfwynn was entirely unprepared for so deceptively simple a question. In hindsight, all of her journeys had been so… fractious, so unfocused since she left Broken Fang Cave. Her need to try and help the people of Whiterun had been born from trying to alleviate the unbearable guilt of her actions, and her foolishness in failing to consider the consequences of her actions had got innocent people killed and herself locked in a filthy pit. All the time her actions swayed between the woman and the beast, and as things were she could never go forward, only stumble one way and then the other. While she still stood in their world she could only play their games rather than end them. It was obvious really, only problem being she had no idea if it even existed.

She followed Dinya out of the room and grabbed her by the cuff.

"I want a cure."


	23. Chapter 23: Pieces in Motion

Chapter 23: Pieces in Motion

The moonlight glistened on Lake Honrich as the frigid winds blew dying leaves onto its surface. Large-winged insects skidded along the surface of the rippling mirror, as if dancing with their watery reflections. Even now, a few small fishing boats were out on the lake, every so often casting a line into unknown depths. Distant lights shone onto the scene from an island mansion, as if gently watching over this small patch of Nirn. Aelfwynn dangled her feet into the water, and putting her satchel aside gazed out over the midnight waters.

Her time spent with the priests of Mara had seemed to clear the Melancholy which had clung to Aelfwynn since her last meeting with Morcar. She had a mission, a goal amongst all the other moves and schemes. To become human again. What then? Aelfwynn couldn't begin to decide. She didn't even know if such a thing was possible.

But first, she thought to herself, preparations had to be made. Harkon expected his chalice back and filled, so Aelfwynn didn't have many more days to waste. She had decided to ignore Morcar's suggestion. Though the Bloodstone chalice may have had little place in his larger plans, he cared nothing for how Harkon would use it in the meantime. The people of Skyrim were desperate enough as it is, without some dark power spurring on the vampires who sought their destruction. This land was hanging by a thread between the dragons' jaws, the vampires' claws and the civil war, and any small drop on any side of the scale could tip the balance. She would not, could not allow it.

Aelfwynn had made some discreet inquiries with the Riften guards, which had confirmed a number of the rumours about these so-called 'Dawnguard'. Apparently, their fortress was in a nearby valley, hidden amongst the mountains on the Eastern border. Whilst going there herself would most likely be suicide, she had another option.

Aelfwynn knew there was a good chance he wouldn't listen. He certainly wouldn't trust her after everything that had happened between them, but he was the only one Aelfwynn knew amongst these self-styled vampire hunters, and hopefully what she offered would be enough to temper his anger towards her. hoisting the quill and parchment Dinya had lent her out of her satchel, Aelfwynn began to scribble a message to an old friend.

* * *

The sounds of Serana's footfalls on the worn stones of the floor echoed claustrophobically as she wandered through the labyrinthian corridors of castle Volkihar. On first arrival, she had been surprised her room was still standing. She couldn't imagine how her father could have allowed the castle, their home for countless centuries to fall so far into disrepair. Had his obsession with the prophecy truly gone so far? Moreover, it was a slightly worrying thought that if so much of the castle had been allowed to collapse in on itself, how stable were the parts that were still occupied? Serana made a mental note to mention it to her father once her reached his chambers.

She ignored the sycophantic courtiers who bowed as she passed, their chants of "Lady Serana" as extravagant as they were insincere. Finally, she climbed the final flight of stairs, placed one perfectly pale hand against the ancient wood, took an entirely unnecessary yet oddly reassuring breath and knocked three times.

"Come in Serana."

She tentatively entered the room, closing the door behind her. Her father sat, as ever, in front of his perpetually burning fireplace, his eyes lost in the flames. With one hand he absentmindedly ran a finger over the elder scroll straddling his lap.

As Serana sat on the ornate chair beside him, Harkon reached over to the table on his opposite side, and proceeded to pour a full goblet before passing it to her.

 _Civil today father? What can the occasion be…_

"Thank you."

She took a sip, let the thick, satisfying liquid roll once around her mouth before swallowing.

"Well, well, Highborn. Are we celebrating something?"

Harkon actually smiled. "There is much to celebrate dear daughter. The final stages of the prophecy are in motion. The pieces on the board are falling into place, though I admit, with a little encouragement from the one who moves them."

 _And am I a piece to you too father?_ She didn't want to dwell on it now, it could raise his suspicions. She lowered her gaze again to the goblet clasped at her chest.

"Fresh too, how did you manage it?"

"So many ships disappear in these treacherous seas…" Harkon uttered softly, his eyes once again distant.

"So, may I ask the reason you summoned me here?"

"Must I have a reason to desire my daughter's company?"

The cynicism at the corner of Serana's eyes answered that question.

"Careful now." Harkon chided in amusement. "As it happens, your instincts are right in this case. The latest piece in the great game has fallen off the board. The fledgling you arrived with, this 'Aelfwynn'. She showed some promise, despite the dilution of her blood and the… foulness of her sire, but she should have returned to us by now. She has my Bloodstone Chalice. I would of course send someone less… valuable first, but you have a certain advantage in this."

 _Aelfwynn?_ From Serana's recollection of the girl, she was surprised that she had apparently managed to earn her way into her father's good graces. Poor thing was clearly a mess, childlike in some ways. She was probably breaking down somewhere, refusing to face the denial of her existence. Well, maybe it was best she find Aelfwynn before someone else did.

"Advantage?" Serana inquired.

"You travelled with her, fought with her, you slept beside her in caves and ruins. As a result, you have doubtless become accustomed to her scent. Garan tells me she was headed directly for Redwater Den. Begin your search there. Beyond that… try nearby settlements. Unlike you and I, the baser vampires have little tolerance for gaps between feedings. Too lost in their need to savour the taste." As he finished, he took a deep drink from his goblet, as if to emphasise the point.

Serana nodded. She rose from her chair and walked to the door, but stopped one outstretched hand before it reached the black iron handle.

"Father, can I just ask you something before I leave?"

"Proceed."

"Why have you allowed so much of the castle to collapse? Some of the halls and towers used to be so… beautiful."

Harkon paused for a terribly quiet moment, and for the first time since she was a child Serana thought she saw uncertainty in her father's eyes.

"After you were taken from me, you and your mother… it didn't seem important. None of it seemed to matter anymore. Only my destiny mattered. That became my only purpose. You may go, Serana."

As Serana descended the castle stairs back towards her room, she began to feel a doubt nagging away at something she'd always taken for granted. Her father's obsession had driven her mother away, driven them both away. But the way he said it… that in his mind he only embraced it in lieu of her presence… No. Her father was a monster, and he had to be stopped. Didn't he?

* * *

The sun was setting on Whiterun. Ralof rubbed his fur-clad hands together furiously, before trying to breath life into the cold. He tugged at his fur mantle, damn thing seemed to blind him whichever way he turned. When the time came to advance he would rely on the heat of battle to stave of the Frostfall chill, he swiftly decided. Most of his comrades stood around the colony of fire-pits which stretched on all around the West, East and Southern slopes of Whiterun, while the unlucky sons of Shor who had pulled the short string darted between them, struggling to keep them all lit. It was a tried and true strategy, dishearten the besieged enemy and put caution into the hearts of enemy scouts by exaggerating the size of your force, however in this case Ralof doubted its effectiveness.

The Jarl of Whiterun knew that this war hung in fragile balance, that the border between Imperial and Stormcloak raged like a sparking lightning bolt, sparking in both directions, and changing every time you looked. The legion had reinforcements slowly dripping in from Cyrodiil and High Rock, and so were slowly encroaching in. Time was not on Jarl Ulfric's side. Nonetheless, Ralof would follow his High King into Sovngarde or Oblivion, a fate which had not been too far distant at Helgen.

Suddenly a heavy hand found grip on Ralof's shoulder, turning him forcefully around.

"Ungh. Ralof isn't it?" The unmistakable growl of Galmar Stone-fist asked, as he scratched at his snow speckled beard. After taking a moment to collect himself, Ralof nodded.

"Yes sir, I'm sorry, I wasn't aware you'd arrived."

Galmar grumbled in amusement. "I thought I'd let these tough sons of bitches rest their bones, rather than have them all line up for inspection. How are they holding up boy?"

Ralof thought if over for a moment, shifting his straight, blonde hair from his eyes. "Quiet. But I do not doubt their courage. Battle… hangs heavy on the mind. Most of us haven't tried taking a city before."

Galmark nodded stiffly. "Been awhile since I took one myself. Not since the last war. How about our man inside, huh? Is everything ready?"

"He knows what to do. The moment the Imperials blow their damn horn to alert the archers we're coming, I'll lead my men to the agreed spot on the east side."

"Good, good. Ulfric tells me you both know this man better than I do. Tell me, Ralof of Riverwood, do you think he's got the stones to do this? War's never a clean business, and some of these so-called heroes can't bring themselves down to that level."

"I trust him with my life." Ralof replied seriously. "In fact, he's saved it more than once."

"Good enough for me" Galmar decided. "If all goes well, he'll have saved it again come sunrise. Maybe some more besides."

Ralof tensed. "Are we about to assault the walls sir?"

"Not yet soldier. We move an hour or so before dawn. We want to be on top of them long before the sun rises."

"I'll tell the men."

"Hmph. Good. Spread the word to those manning the catapults to aim for the archers on the walls, might give us some cover. And Ralof?"

Ralof paused.

"Try and get some sleep if you can. We're going to need to be fully alert."

A nervous energy now warding off the cold, Ralof ran towards the nearest campfire and spread the word. Soon this damn waiting would end, and hopefully the next step towards victory would be theirs.


	24. Chapter 24: Forgive Me

Chapter 24: Forgive me

 _Dear Jon,_

 _I know hearing from me is probably the last thing you could want in the world, and I can only apologise for the pain it must cause you. Unfortunately, I had no choice. You are the only one amongst the Dawnguard who knows who I am, and therefore the only one who might listen. Even more importantly, I know in your heart you're not just a soldier, a man who kills for its own sake. I hope when your anger towards what you perceive I did to your life fades, you still remember that. Who knows, it might not be too late to sing Olfina the song you wrote for her._

 _I have managed to infiltrate the elite circle of vampires here in Skyrim. Take this information to your superiors: they follow a Lord Harkon, who has masterminded most, if not all the recent vampire attacks. They have an Elder scroll, and plan to use it in some way of fulfilling some ancient prophecy. I intend to do everything I can to stop them, but first we need to meet. I've managed to get hold of one of Lord Harkon's artefacts which could potentially lead to great suffering. He's expecting it back, filled with some strange spring-water in this area within days. Instead, I'm trusting it to you. With any luck, Harkon will believe you took it from me, further feeding his paranoia of your apparent 'omniscience' after Dimhollow crypt._

 _If you and your Dawnguard friends agree, please meet me on the Riften docks two nights from now. I won't mind if you come fully armed, I understand the precautions, but I would rather you came alone. You I still trust, but I'm sure there are more than a few 'enthusiasts' among your new friends. I hope to see you soon._

 _Yours, whatever you might think,_

 _Aelfwynn._

Jon Battle-Born's hands were shaking. With one arm her rubbed the dark shadows under his eyelids, as if trying to clear his sight. He took a gulp of Black-Briar mead, which swiftly reminded him of one of the many ways he missed his home. He wasn't sure if and how Honningbrew differed in its content to its Riften competitor, but here amongst the cold and foreboding mountains, it tasted wrong all the same.

Suddenly, he felt a nudge at his elbow.

"What've you got there Battle-Born? Letter from home… from a sweetheart perhaps?"

Jon turned to see Celann grinning at him, whilst others sat sparsely dotted around the long table, chuckling quietly. He let himself smile at that. Celann had taken it upon himself to keep spirits up, to give a certain light and irreverence to things. Considering the personalities of the Triumvirate of leadership in the dawnguard, it was very welcome. Jon had nothing against them of course. Fighting evil with far greater numbers and power required an utter dedication to the cause. Isran embodied that necessity. Tirelessly pursuing the mission, Isran had been known to miss sleep for over a week – and he avoided any fraternising with members of the Dawnguard. It often made him distant and unapproachable, but Jon observed that they all slept better at night knowing their sleepless sentinel watched over them, tirelessly, unendingly. Gunmar on the other hand, was a man dedicated to hunting and taming dangerous beasts often seemed more comfortable with animals than with men, and Sorine often became so obsessed by her latest contraptions she would retreat entirely into her own mind.  
Still, flawed and furious, Jon knew that these people he had come to respect were the true stuff heroes were made of, whatever the songs said. They would never surrender, never compromise until the day was won. Yet as he told Agmaer so long ago, this was not a war won, but endured, and those that survived it would not sing songs of it to their children who feared the night.

"Nothing so pleasant I'm afraid. Better go see Isran in fact." With that, Jon began to swing his legs across the bench.

"Much less pleasant" Celann agreed. "Don't worry, the heat from the fire should keep your mead… thawed. Best hurry back."

The spiral stairs to Isran's chamber seemed to wind upwards forever. After finally arriving on the upper floor, the burn in his legs beginning to subside, Jon caught sight of Isran in animated conversation with Gunmar and Sorine.

"I thought you'd have learned your lessons by now…" Isran said in his rough drawl, pacing restlessly about the room. "I don't trust that man, and I don't want him here."

"Oh come on Isran!" Sorine retorted pleadingly, "we're going to need someone of his skills, seeing as what we're quite clearly up against…"

"Hmph" Isran grunted. "If things are really getting that bad I'll consider it. Now, if that'll be all?"

Gunmar and Sorine strolled briskly past Jon, the latter mumbling angrily under her breath.

Jon tapped his gauntlet against the stone archway.

"Is this a good time Isran?"

"As long as you aren't hear to make a case for a madman who thinks the God Arkay lives in his head, I'm all ears" Isran grumbled. "What do you need Battle-Born?"

Straight to the point as always, Jon though as he passed Isran the parchment and waited for his response. Thirty seconds of reading and pacing later, Isran handed it back to Jon, his steely eyes narrowing.

"This the vampire you told me about, from Whiterun?"

"Aye, that's her."

"It's not a 'she' anymore Jon. It's not a person. It's an abomination, something you should know by now."

"So, you think I shouldn't go?"

"Didn't say that. Vampire clearly thinks she has one over on you, but we can use that. Vampires are expert liars, and the best lies have seeds of truth sown between the lines. I think you should go, but not alone. Talk to it, make it feel like it's got through to you, see what you can learn. Once you have this so-called 'artefact' we can get Sorine to look it over and see if there's anything to it. When you feel it can't tell you anything more that's useful, I trust you know what to do."

Jon's hand subconsciously went to his silver sword. "I have some idea," he said, furrowing his blonde brow.

"I know this one's been on your mind for a while. Its why you joined us, I don't doubt. Don't get me wrong, unquenchable hatred can give you a hell of a lot of strength, focus, but who knows, maybe this might give you something like peace."

"You may be right." Jon said with his mind, whilst deep in his heart he still doubted.

* * *

A restless anticipation clung to the walls of Jorrvaskr. While the hall would usually resonate with the echoes of tall tales and the laughter of warriors, the silent approach of battle deafened the chance for such reverie. It was something in the air, as if time itself was reluctant to pass.

"You're sure about this Harbinger?"

Sihtric looked up from sharpening his sword, wiping the nervous sweat from his brow as he did so. Aela the Huntress stood above him, sparks from the central hearth accentuating her volcanic mane of hair.

"Oh yes, heroically leading some of my closest friends to a certain and honourable death? No problem."

Aela raised her brows, attempting to stifle a laugh. Their new harbinger was incorrigible sometimes.

"Who decided to join your hunt?"

The amusement fell from his face. Sihtric had never quite grown used to Aela's way of seeing the world. Her skill, her bravery and her loyalty were unquestionable, yet he found that the importance she placed on the hunt above all things dulled her senses to more complicated, more human matters. The chain of events which had led to the death of Kodlak had taught him that. Unable to see beyond anger, beyond retribution and killing had cost the companions almost more than they could bear.

"It's not a hunt Aela. Those are men and women out there, fighting for their homes, defending their families."

"I hadn't forgotten. Wolves are not so different," she replied knowingly.

Sihtric smiled at her. "Farkas, Ria and Vilkas for sure. Njada and the elf are still undecided."

Aela looked surprised. "Vilkas eh? Didn't he give you a piece of his mind earlier? How exactly did he put it…"

Sihtric chuckled. "Lets see… He said there was no honour to be found in any of it, and that squabbling over who worshipped what dead god was petty and absurd, and that it wasn't our role to get involved in politics."

"Ah, yes. That's some coming around. So, what did you say to him?"

"I told him I thought he was wrong. I told him that the companions have been many things over the course of their history, but always what was needed at the time. I explained I honestly believe there is more at stake here at than any petty religious differences. Finally, I suggested that we owe something to the man who sits on Ysgramor's throne in the city he built, who wants to protect our homeland from those who would destroy it."

"I imagine that last part got his attention."

"It did, it got him thinking for long enough for us to sit down and talk – as we have many times before. He's still a little sceptical, but he seems to trust me enough to take this first step at least."

Vilkas and Sihtric had grown close since their first duel, now legendary anecdote material amongst the companions. Fierce competition had turned into fast friendship, further strengthened by similar attitudes. Whereas Farkas, Aela and Torvar were happy to be told to go where they were told, or to be non-dissimilatory with their choices of targets, Vilkas and Sihtric always liked to think about things, to discuss their merits and faults. So it had been with the issue of the beast-blood, and so it needed to be now.

"We all do." Aela stated simply. Sihtric looked at her then, and for a moment he realised how much he wanted to tell this brave, beautiful woman how much that meant to him. _Not the time_ , he thought to himself, yet another seemed to whisper; _and it never will be_.

Gradually, the armoured Companions began to gather in the mead hall, seeming to unconsciously form a semi-circle around their harbinger. After briefly inspecting the edge of the ornate blade the jarl had given him so long ago, Sihtric stood, briefly looking at all of their faces in turn, the faces of those who had accepted him as family.

"This is usually the time in the saga where the leader makes an inspiring speech. Personally, I tended to want to skip over those parts, the battles were far more interesting."

A few of them laughed softly.

"More importantly, I'm not your leader. Kodlak told me when we first met, no man leads anyone in the Companions. We are all our own warriors, free to follow our own hearts, and our own beliefs. It's pretty obvious those aren't my elegant words eh? When Kodlak chose me to take his place as Harbinger, I couldn't believe it. Not as much as Vilkas, by the look on his face, but pretty close."

He aimed a wink at his friend, who grinned mockingly.

"Neither could I believe it when the fates made me Dragonborn. I was just the man from nowhere who nearly got eaten and burned both times he saw a dragon, once in Helgen and once here in Whiterun. But I've come to believe that Talos and fate gave me this… this power to fight for what I believe is right. People are suffering and dying out there every day, even when we can't hear their screams from these walls, and as long as this war is allowed to wallow in stalemate it won't stop until we all fall silent."

Sihtric paused for a moment, before his voice began to take on a sombre note. "We have all seen that darker forces are moving on the edge of our vision. Whilst we allow Skyrim to tear itself a part, the dragons and vampires circle like vultures.

When I moved into Jorrvaskr, you became part of my family. The other part is out there, beyond the walls about to face fire and arrow-storms, and in my heart I can't allow them to face them alone. Nor can I live with the deaths of the innocents who could be caught in the crossfire as this battle continues.

The Jarl…" Sihtric paused, the words catching in his throat. "He's a good man, and a friend to many of us. His loyalty and dedication to his people has kept them out of the fire this far, but now the time has come to temper them with that fire he has faltered. All good men have their blind spots, and the jarl's is Ulfric Stormcloak. I pleaded with him to avoid this battle, but he threw me out and spurned my words. So words must turn into action.

You should know that none of you need follow me out of obligation, or fear of judgement. But if you decided to burst out of those doors with me I promise you, there will be honour and glory to be won. Songs will be sung of the day the companions joined the war, charged on to victory, cleansed the dragons from our skies and burned the vampires in daylight. What say you?"

A thunderous cheer went up from the gathered warriors, as greatswords, bows and axes were raised high in the air. Sihtric's heart soared with pride at his family's courage and at their faith in him. At the same time, a voice locked away in his mind seemed to pray: _may Talos forgive me_.

* * *

Aelfwynn closed her eyes and felt the strong wind blowing off lake Honrich arc around her outstretched fingers. It was the second night since she had sent that courier to Fort Dawnguard, and the second she had stood her lonely vigil gazing out over the lake. Her time had not been wasted however. During the days she had discussed with Dinya the logistics of pursuing a cure, quickly agreeing that if a cure even existed outside the realms of fantasy stories, the mages at the College in Winterhold were the ones to know about it. After returning to Harkon to explain the loss of the cup – hopefully without his obliterating her – that's where she'd head next.

Suddenly a familiar scent pierced her sense like an arrow.

 _Jon._

She turned to see her former friend emerge out of the shadowed doorway to the city. He still wore the brown coloured square-plated armour she had noticed in Dimhollow, but more surprisingly he seemed to wear an apologetic smile. She returned it, letting her tense shoulders relax. He slowly approached, showing both his unarmed hands as he did so. Aelfwynn did the same, and for a moment the two both just stood, watching the other with uncertainty.

"You look tired." Aelfwynn blurted, wanting to break the lingering tension.

"Troubled times, sister."

Aelfwynn's heart caught in her throat. She didn't want to read too heavily into his choice of words, but an impossible hope railed against her senses.

"Jon, I just need you to know I never meant for…"

He cut her off. "I know that Aelfwynn. I… I forgive you for that. I'm sure it was all a misunderstanding."

Aelfwynn thought she must be dreaming. On further consideration, her dreams were never so pleasant. She took a step closer to him, craning her head back slightly to keep eye contact.

"I've missed you Jon. When we were back in Whiterun it felt like Skyrim was the adventure I had imagined from my bunk in the temple. Ever since we parted ways that night, it seemed as if everything started to spiral downwards for a while."

She noticed one of his eyelids twitching slightly, palpable unease hiding in his posture. Perhaps only to be expected in the beginning, such things would take time to heal.

She rustled around for a moment in her satchel, not taking long to find the immense goblet which heavily weighed on it. Jon's arms notably dropped several inches as he took it. After adjusting to the object's incongruous weight, Jon began to turn the artefact over in his hands, eyeing the designs and feeling the texture much as Aelfwynn had done. His mind was probably swimming with imagination for the item's history and purpose Aelfwynn thought, he still had heart of a bard after all.

"Amazing… if a little grotesque" Jon breathed. "I wonder what it's purpose could be, eh?"

"All I know is that Harkon wanted it filled from a tainted spring to the west of here. A place called 'Redwater Den."

"A vampire lair?"

"I'm not certain" Aelfwynn admitted, "Harkon's underling was rather vague on that score. I'd be cautious if you were planning to clear it out."

"And this… this 'Harkon'. You say he's the one behind all these vampire attacks? Behind the attack on Whiterun?" Jon's expression changed to reveal a previously suppressed fury not yet burned cold.

Aelfwynn put her hand on his arm, only for him to pull away with jagged force. Aelfwynn tried to conceal how much that hurt her. "Jon" she began, "I tended the wounded after that battle. The city was short on healers after the temple… I'm trying to say that I never saw or heard about any Battle-Borns being killed. I think Idolaf came in for a gash but it was easily treated."

Jon still refused to meet her gaze. "Thank you for that. Insufferable as he is, Idolaf is still my brother. And…"

Aelfwynn knew what he was going to ask. "No sign of Olfina either. From what I heard in the cells, the guard managed to hold off the vampires before they got loose amongst the inner city. I'm sure she's fine."

He exhaled in relief, but then swiftly got back on point. "So, this so-called 'Lord Harkon', what's his end game?"

Aelfwynn blinked. "He wants to put out the sun."

Jon tried to stifle a laugh. "I beg your pardon? This is no time for jokes sister."

"I mean it. He has an elder scroll, and whether he's deluded or not he believes he can use it to create an epoch of eternal night." Aelfwynn shuddered. "Jon at this point it doesn't matter what you, or your new friends think of me. We need to stop him." She said the words 'new friends' almost accusingly.

"To be blunt Aelfwynn, what reason should you have to so passionately want to stop him? If I understand it right, you have everything to gain here!"

"Because I'm not the monster you think I am! Over the last weeks I'm even starting to believe it. Jarl Balgruuf believed it, your precious Dragonborn believed it, maybe even our Lady Mara hasn't entirely given up on me either. If you'd managed to get past the guard with that silver sword of yours in Whiterun hold I'd probably agree and beg you to just kill me, but I know better now, and so should you.

Because I'm still here to help you Jon Battle-Born. In any way I can."

Her final choice of words was not lost on him. Echoing the first conversation the two had shared the morning after their chance meeting at the hand – or rather the fist – of Uthgerd the Unbroken.

"I'm sorry." The words cut like a knife. A simple little phrase, it should have made Aelfwynn's heart sing, but she knew the moment he started to form the words it was wrong. Jon Battle-Born took a step towards the end of the creaking jetty, before turning back towards the city, and nodding once. Two heavily armoured warriors clanked out from the city, one armed with a crossbow, the other with a wicked-looking flail. Both were concealed, sexless and anonymous behind the cruel slits of closed helms.

 _How had she not caught their scent?_

She turned back to Jon only to see him draw his blade. There was nothing in his eyes.

Aelfwynn reacted with the instinct of a cornered beast. Not wanting to kill Jon, she landed a winding kick to his stomach, trying to knock him into the water. His lamella armour caught the blow more than she would of liked, merely knocking him back a couple feet along the jetty. Turning to face the other two, Aelfwynn pulled the silver mace she had carried since Dimhollow from her belt, only for it to fall from her hand as a sharp pain ripped into it. She looked to see a steel bolt protruding grotesquely from her palm, causing blood to fall onto the wooden planks below in a trickle. The agony funnelled her anger, the notion of just diving into the lake and leaving dying in her mind.

Two blood-red swirls of fury shot from Aelfwynn's loosely robed arms, fusing painfully with the two dawnguard soldiers, who began to glow with the same scarlet radiance. Her calculating vampire mind immediately decided that whilst these warriors undoubtedly trained themselves against fear, their rage was probably far less contained.

The Dawnguard let out animalistic screams and began to savagely engage each other. The crossbow became a surprisingly effective bludgeon at close range, getting in several bruising strikes before the flail wielder could start to make some attacks of his own. Aelfwynn quickly glanced down for her mace, but saw only the blood her wound had left. She turned quickly just in time to see the mace collide with her head, then she saw nothing as the blackness enveloped her.

She heard oars breaking the water. Felt a gentle swaying from side to side that scraped her hair across a hard surface. Then Aelfwynn felt the burning. Her wrists and ankles felt as if they were being scorched by rings of fire.

Aelfwynn tried to rise, but she felt weak, almost limp. Immense weights seemed to constrain all of her limbs, and her hands seemed to be tied above her head, clanking as she tried to move them. The attempt merely made the fire burn hotter. Opening her eyes, she saw Jon Battle-Born standing at a tiller. Her mind was still reeling from the blow, but one thought refused to leave her.

 _Jon betrayed me_.

He must have lied from the start – presumably to pump for information before disposing of her. _Idiot girl_ , she thought to herself. _How could you let him fool you like this? Why do you keep trusting them?_ Ironic that now she had decided to pursue a cure she remembered the reasons her younger self had embraced vampirism.

The two of them were on some sort of long, sturdy-looking boat, presumably out on the lake. Aelfwynn realised her wrists and ankles were ensnared in silver bands, bound to great iron weights. Her hands bound above her head appeared to be chained to an anchor, presumably all to keep her from escaping. _But why?_ If the Dawnguard wanted to kill her, why didn't Jon just run her through?

"Jon… why?" She demanded, her voice little more than a raspy whisper.

Jon dropped the tiller, almost leaping across the deck before lifting Aelfwynn by the robe.

"Because you're an abomination" he said, as if trying to convince himself. "Every time I'm forced to look at you… All I see is what you've taken from me. Because until you're gone… my soul will know no rest."

Aelfwynn looked at him, clarity blooming in her bleary eyes. "You silly Nord" she laughed in a small, dry voice. "I think you knew the first time you looked at me, didn't you? As you lay there, looking as dented as poor Hulda's wall. I think you still know deep down that you didn't leave Olfina that night because I put some spell on you. Is that why you're doing this Battle-Born? Because you can't face that you might have started to have feelings for a vampire?"

Aelfwynn saw an expression of terror expand outwards from Jon's eyes, slowly encompassing his entire face.

"Forgive me" he said simply, before pulling a rope free from its holding.

Aelfwynn fell, and the black waters swallowed her with barely a sound.


	25. Chapter 25: The Battle of Whiterun

Chapter 25: The Battle of Whiterun

A horn sounded on the walls of Whiterun, a deep, ominous boom that carried far and wide across the plains. Its sombre tones fell heavy on sleeping Rorikstead in the west, and rattled the rickety wooden frame of the Nightgate Inn to the East.

Great, fiery boulders smeared with pitch smashed against the ancient walls, causing stone to crumble and wooden walkways to be torn aside frenetically. A thousand arrows tore into the air in response, casting deadly rainfall on the Stormcloak vanguard charging impetuously for the gate. Whilst many of the arrows embedded themselves in the berserkers' outheld shields, the first of many agonised shrieks and guttural groans consummated the night of slaughter.

Whilst the vanguard's advance and the aerial barrage held the garrison's attention, a row of Stormcloaks spun grappling hooks menacingly before attempting to launch them over the walls. Some fell back to Nirn with a thud, others caught firmly in place whilst one line brought an Imperial who had the misfortune to catch the hook back over the wall with it, a horrified gurgle ending in a crack.

The main advance seemed like it was about to falter, the wooden barricades which blocked the main gate were now coated with the bodies of fallen soldiers, and the Imperial and Whiterun guard still hadn't been compelled to send a single soldier out into hand to hand combat.

It was then Galmar Stone-Fist and his loyal officers entered the fray. Splitting the air with a blood-curdling battle-cry, he swung his greataxe through the first rank of barricades, rallying the blooded soldiers. Their heavy, bear-pelted steel armour angrily swatted the deluge of projectiles, steel scraping on steel with a definite screech. With a unified charge they broke through the final line of barricades, and the battle began in earnest.

* * *

Sihtric reached out his hand to Ralof, pulling him off the rope ladder and into the Underforge. No words passed between them. A mere exchange of uncertain smiles and curt nods, the silence before a warrior throws himself into the fire that may extinguish him. Once Sihtric was sure Ralof's men could get inside the city without complications, he began the short walk back to Jorrvaskr.

Their objectives were simple. One party had to secure and open the city's inner gate, preventing the garrison from merely retreating behind the walls, prolonging the conflict and worsening the casualties. The other was headed for Dragonsreach, to cut the head off the serpent. The choice of which attack he would spearhead was no choice at all. Though he had assured himself and others that his plan wasn't born of any personal vendetta, the desire to confront Balgruuf, to stand before the man who had crossed him and denied him once too often, now with the strength to prove his righteousness… well it burned within him still.

The Whiterun guard had given Jorrvaskr little thought when preparing for the siege, the walls and the cliffs at their base made assault from that angle highly improbable when under fire. They had been courteous enough to provide Jorrvaskr with barricades however, and otherwise been content to allow the companions to defend their own.

 _How wrong they were,_ Sihtric thought. _They could never conceive the brave heroes who lived among them turning on them at their darkest hour._

No. He couldn't allow these doubts to cloud his mind at this crucial moment. Perhaps small evils needed to be committed to ensure a greater good. They were saving lives.

* * *

Idolaf Battle-Born stood under the withered Gildergreen, practicing wielding his rectangular Imperial Scutum. He was unused to the weight and feel of such a large shield, every time he tried to manoeuvre, it seemed to slow his movements, weighting him to the spot. He envied the whiterun guards their round, comfortable shields, watching them as they shuffled briskly towards the front. The spear on the other hand, was far more familiar. His father had taken he and Jon boar hunting enough times to get the general idea. Jon had never appreciated the rush of the hunt, always pitying the creatures they killed, but not Idolaf. Now, after all those times imagining one of those filthy Stormcloak pigs on the end of his spear-shaft, the day was finally here. Of course, he ensured his trusty blade was firmly tied to his belt, in case the bastards got a little too close for comfort.

His thoughts hovered for a moment on his wayward younger brother. He had brought shame to the clan, allowed himself to be used as a vampire's thrall before getting himself arrested by the city guard. Worse still, after he had exiled himself to Shor knows where, they had found concealed letters from Olfina Gray-mane stashed amongst his bed-furs. "No son of mine!" His father had spat as he threw them into the seething fire. "No son of mine." Idolaf shivered involuntarily. He had never heard such pure seething fury, especially not in one he loved.

Idolaf's fury had paralleled that of his father's at first, but now time had allowed the coals to cool he began to feel the pangs of regret. A brother is a brother – after all he was hardly on the level of these traitors storming the gates. If nothing else, he wanted Jon to see him prove his valour as the true warrior of clan Battle-Born. The Legate's orders to Idolaf's Centura were simple. In the event that the gates were overrun or the walls scaled, Idolaf and his fellow legionnaires were to hold the narrow ascents which separated the plains district from the higher, more defensible regions of the city. The lightly armoured and clumsily ordered Stormcloaks wouldn't stand a chance against a disciplined legion spear and shield wall.

Suddenly, he heard a sound. A chorus of voices, all calling out from somewhere above him. He turned to face Jorrvaskr, dragging his immense shield across the ground with a groan. He saw shapes emerging from the smoky air. There were men swarming around both sides of the mead hall, and without a moment's pause the double doors swung open as if caught in a gale. Idolaf focused his gaze amongst the shapes, and with growing horror he recognised them.

 _The Companions. Surrounded by a Stormcloak army._

Their eclectic armour types, leather, wolf and fur were unified by a single blue sash worn over the top. Idolaf froze, locked in disbelief. The Dragonborn, his face now clear raised his blade and cried in a voice like thunder "FOR SKYRIM!"

Idolaf's comrades quickly moved to try and form up, forming a defensive line at the foot of the stairs, and extended their spears. The Whiterun guards stood either side, swords flashing. The air was quickly filled with violent song, as the defenders desperately tried to hold firm against the warriors' onslaught. The Companions fought like no foe Idolaf had ever faced. Whilst his soldiers worked in disciplined unison, the warriors of Ysgramor complimented each other in a complex harmony. Vilkas went for an overhead strike against one legionnaire, only for his brother to cut out his feet from under him. Sihtric would feint against another, causing an opening in the defence for Aela's furious arrows to strike. It swiftly became clear to Idolaf that they were losing. They needed something to spur them on, to show them that these Stormcloak traitors weren't invincible. His eyes fixed on the Dragonborn, and he jabbed with his spear. Sihtric caught the end of the blade, a expression of pain clouding his face before he knocked the shaft aside, advancing on Idolaf, who in turn took a step beyond the safety of the defensive line.

Idolaf lifted his enormous shield, causing Sihtric's steel longsword to embed itself deep within the wood, sticking when he tried to remove it. Idolaf tried to use his opponent's momentary disarming to knock him off his feet, but the immense weight of the scutum rendered his attempt clumsy and half-hearted, he himself staggering to one side trying to find balance.

 _Damn shield!_

Sihtric pulled his sword free, cracking and splintering the shield as he did so. Realising he needed to be more mobile, Idolaf quickly dropped both spear and shield, reaching for his own.

Idolaf struck hard and fast at the wolf-armoured Nord, cutting furiously at the blue sash which defiantly adorned his shoulders. After a couple of initial slashes hit their mark, the Dragonborn began to parry Idolaf's blows with growing precision. Their duel continued as bodies fell around them, the last fall of a sorrowful autumn. One final agile thrust, and the Dragonborn backed away, sword-hand empty.

Idolaf didn't react at first, continuing to raise his sword-arm to strike. The blade slipped sadly from his grasp. He turned to look at his empty, twitching hand, before looking down at the handle protruding from the chest of his brown imperial cuirass. It was painted by blood. The first naked twinges of comprehension began to stream into his face.

"Father? Where is.." He whispered, a child's plea before the ground took him.

* * *

Jarl Balgruuf grunted as his servants shifted his ornate steel plate armour into place.

"Irileth, those are my people, fighting and dying out there for their home. What good am I as their jarl if I will not go out there and do the same?"

"You'll be a good enough Jarl that realises he needs to still be alive to rule them" Irileth retorted with her characteristic bluntness. Balgruuf chortled lightly.

"Hard to see years of work be ruined by one stray arrow, eh Irileth? You may well be right. But damn it I owe it to them to show my face at least. Yes, it's fine" the Jarl finished, motioning for the men to stop fiddling with his armour.

Balgruuf's head snapped towards the great wooden doors which separated him from the battle below. The volume of war cries began to rise to an uncomfortable cacophony, the unmistakeable scream of steel raking against steel was seeming to edge ever closer. Letting the shock fall from his face, he swiftly replaced it with a mask of iron resolve. With one arm Balgruuf signalled for his archers to take up positions before drawing his longsword. After all these years fighting with his mind and his voice, it still fit into his hand like an old friend.

A shriek of agony complimented the snapping of wood as a single steel blade burst through one of the great wooden doors, sending splinters flying into the hall. The blade was quickly retracted before the doors were kicked open. The next several moments were a blur of rapid movement. Several burly shapes burst into the great hall, engaging several of the Whiterun guards who had swiftly drawn up into a wall of golden shields and steel blades.

While the fighting raged on between blue and gold, a single figure emerged from the carnage. The bloodied visage of the Dragonborn, no mirth in his smiling green eyes bore down on him, Balgruuf's old sword tight in his grip.

That told Balgruuf all he needed to know. His once close companion and friend, his champion… had betrayed him.

"So," Balgruuf began, "it's come to this, eh? You, a Stormcloak? I had thought better of you."

"And I you old friend." Sihtric replied, his voice strangely empty amidst the heat of battle. "I admired you more than most. I followed where you lead, listened to your words." His voice changed, becoming harsher as he stressed each syllable in his mouth "I fought, and I bled for you. I faced fire and steel, and as a reward you gag me with empty titles and show no interest in my input. I think I know why you chose the empire over us. You let your fear silence your heart Balgruuf, fearing change, fearing risk. But no great deeds are done without risk, no?"

Balgruuf was silent for a moment, lowering his gaze momentarily to the floor, before shaking his head and raising it once more to meet Sihtric's furious gaze.

"I pity you, you know?" Balgruuf began. "You have no idea what you've done here today. You don't know what you're taking one step closer to becoming."

The jarl raised one of his arms. "Keep back, Irileth. We'll settle this in the old way."

Irileth began to protest, but a stare from the Jarl's iron eyes silenced even her. He turned back to Sihtric. "Well boy?"

Sihtric nodded, raising his longsword. The surviving Stormcloak and Companion fighters lowered their weapons, honouring this age-old rite, and those few Whiterun guards who stood bleeding and battered reluctantly did the same.

The two heavily-armoured warriors came together, blades sparking as one fought the other for dominance. Sihtric was younger, and more agile than the incumbent jarl, but he was also battle-wearied. Balgruuf also had many more years of experience, studying his opponent carefully as he countered Sihtric's slashes and thrusts. Over time, Sihtric's attacks became more desperate. He aimed a strike at Balgruuf's neck, only for him to parry, riposting the blow with enough power to knock the blade from the Dragonborn's hand. Not wasting a moment, Balgruuf closed his free steel-plated fist, landing a blow squarely on Sihtric's unprotected face. He stumbled away from Balgruuf, placing one arm on the wooden floor to try and steady himself. The Jarl took a step towards his fallen foe, ready to finish the duel.

 _FUS RO DAH!_

Balgruuf was caught up in a riptide of unstoppable force, flying through the air for a single uncomprehending moment, before hitting the ground with a myriad of cracks, causing his throne to smash into fragments of finely carved wood. Trying to rise, he quickly realised the bones in his sword arm had shattered, while his back and legs screamed at him as he tried to rise. As he lifted his head he saw his rival on his feet again, battered but unbeaten. Behind one of the long tables he caught movement, stirring at the corner of his bleary eye. Irileth was drawing her blade, beginning to advance on Sihtric. His mind recalled her words to him mere minutes ago.

 _You'll be a good enough Jarl that realises he needs to still be alive to rule them._

Perhaps she was right. The day may be lost, but the war wasn't. His people would need him again, and right now Irileth needed him to stop her loyalty getting her killed.

"Enough! That's enough, I surrender… I surrender. Everyone stand down!"

* * *

Sihtric couldn't believe it, astonished as he stopped before the shattered seat of Whiterun's power. All knew that a Nord warrior fights to the death to defend his home, his beliefs, his honour. He tried to respond but his tongue rejected the attempts.

"BALGRUUF!" Vignar Gray-mane shouted as he pushed past the doors, his voice strained with satisfied rage, yet burdened with wearied age.

"Vignar Gray-Mane," The jarl wheezed. "I noticed your family were notably absent from the walls. Now I know why. Wouldn't a dagger in the back have sufficed?" He craned his neck up to Sihtric. "From either one of you?"

Vignar scoffed as he continued to storm down the hall. "You still think this is personal? The Empire has no place in Skyrim, not anymore. And you… you have no place in Whiterun anymore!"

"You fools. We Nords are the empire. Our blood built it. Our blood sustains it. You of all people should know that!"

"If this were my empire, I'd be able to worship whoever I damned well please. You want to see an empire without Talos? Without its soul?! The empire is nothing more than a puppet of the Thalmor. Skyrim needs a High King who will fight for her, and Whiterun needs a Jarl who will do the same!"

 _He's right_ , Sihtric thought to himself. _But it can't be you._

Vignar Gray-mane was a good, if occasionally cantankerous old man, and whilst elder men could often make wise leaders in peace-time, that was not now. This was an age of war, raging across several fronts, and it needed someone who had fought – who could fight, and one who understood the enemy. Moreover, this was a time when Whiterun needed unity, and installing one of the heads of the great houses of Whiterun in such a position of dominance was doomed from the beginning, any sane man could see that.

They were interrupted by thundering footfalls, as if a bear were clambering over a wooden forest floor.

"Enough!" Galmar Stone-Fist bellowed, in a voice which Sihtric imagined woke any Draugr within several leagues. "While you waste time trading insults, there's a burning city out there that needs a government!"

Sihtric stepped up. "The Companions and I can deal with the fires and ensure the people are safe. Then we can discuss governing. What say you Galmar?"

Galmar grunted, a strangely approving sound. "Get to it. One last thing boy. Need to know if we've the same mind. What do we do with him?" Galmar gestured to the bent and broken Jarl, pressing a hand against his wound.

Sihtric tried to clear his mind of the shame he felt at how far Balgruuf had fallen in his eyes. "We can't execute him. It would turn the people against us and undermine everything we've achieved in this bloody business. But after… after this display he doesn't deserve release. The dungeon I think."

Galmar stared into Sihtric's green eyes for a moment, before nodding once. As two brutish Stormcloaks began to lift and drag the Jarl away, his fading shouts could be heard echoing off the walls of his palatial home. "This isn't over, you hear me? IT'S NOT OVER! You'll all come to regret this day!"

Looking into the face of his former mentor once more, Sihtric; Harbinger and Dragonborn, turned away, striding out into the smoke of the morning, to try and bring some order to the chaos he had helped spawn.


	26. Chapter 26: Waking Nightmare

Chapter 26: Waking Nightmare

The corridor breathed silent sobs, and the stone walls wept blood. Dozens of trickles, thick and red, trailed sluggishly down the walls before falling, tuneless tears raining onto the ground. A watery sun shone cold on her from above, the air wafting and waving as if being torn apart by a thousand currents.

Balgruuf threw the chain leash into her hands roughly. "You know what to do. It's up to you now." With that he turned, fading into a shadow which vanished with him. Aelfwynn followed the incongruous corridor, her steps feeling heavy and restrained. Eventually, she reached the familiar cell. Inside, the horrific monster sat, her arms huddled protectively around her legs.

"You're needed." Aelfwynn said without thinking.

"Why should I help you?" Wynn replied, hatred bubbling in her deep-red eyes.

"Because you're a part of me" Aelfwynn replied, "and like it or not, I'm in control again."

Aelfwynn's head smacked against the bars as Wynn's dead white hands yanked her body towards her, her monstrous grin full of insatiable hunger.

"Do you really think little one, if I was in here for any reason except my free will you could have a hope of stopping me? Are you so deluded? If I really wanted to leave here, do you really think you'd have the breath to scream?"

 _My words_ , Aelfwynn thought. _She's using my words_. Aelfwynn gasped in fear as she felt the cold fangs in her neck, whilst soft white hair caught in her mouth as Wynn tore passionately into her flesh. As Aelfwynn felt the familiar sensation of life falling away from her, Wynn cradled her fading body like a new-born child.

"Don't be afraid" she cooed, narcissistically stroking Aelfwynn's hair. "Soon I'll be free, and so will you."

The blood pooling on the ground, flowing from the walls and from Aelfwynn's punctured neck continued to rise, drowning them both before Aelfwynn snapped awake, into yet another waking nightmare.

* * *

Serana was losing her patience. For several hours now, the rickety cart which had carried her since Ivarstead had succeeded at hitting every bump, every loose pebble and every pothole in the road. In combination with the invasive rays of muted sunshine, it left her in a foul mood. Serana turned to face her red-faced Nord driver, a stout man who looked nearly as unappealing as he smelled.

"Are you sure you know where you're going?" Serana asked curtly, twitching her head slightly to one side.

"Aye" the driver responded passively, without so much as turning to face her. "we're on the same road as when last you asked. We'll be in the city before the sun sets. Glad to be rid of you, way you've been lollygagging."

"Lollygagging?!" Serana demanded incredulously.

"Aye," the driver responded without missing a beat. "Like a horker in heat. So, if I were you I'd keep quiet and let me drive in peace, eh?"

 _Charming._ Serana thought to herself. _Glad to see manners have remained as unpopular as ever since I left…_

After a painfully long period of time crawling further along the sparsely travelled highway, Serana saw the walls of the city in the distance. As a work of architecture, Riften was not particularly inspired. It's rustic docks were pleasant enough, Serana supposed, but she really did think that in the countless centuries in which she had slept below Skyrim, at least one Jarl would have thought to try and improve the situation beyond that of a huddled mass of waterside shacks.

Riften seemed to be the best place to start. Serana had picked up some trace of Aelfwynn's scent on some trees which had been viciously torn apart, but apart from that she had only detected the faintest suggestion of her heading eastwards along the road. Wherever she was headed, it became increasingly clear it wasn't Redwater Den. The trail should have split off miles ago.

As the cart ground to a jarring halt, Serana hopped down, glad to feel the steady ground under her feet once more.

"That'll be 20 septims" the driver stated, crossing his coarsely-haired arms expectantly.

Serana raised an eyebrow. "Twenty? For that? That seems a little excessive if you ask me…"

"It'll be a lot less that your bail. Still seem unfair to you?" The driver smirked maliciously.

Serana rolled her eyes. Deciding she'd had enough of her unpleasant travelling companion, she flicked her hand towards him with annoyance, a faint green light enveloping him. The driver seemed to stare unseeingly at her for a moment, scratching his head absently, before wordlessly turning his cart away and heading west. Letting her frustration drain from her with an unnecessary breath, Serana turned and walked through the city gates.

Her wayward fledgling had definitely been here. Serana was by no means an expert tracker, but Aelfwynn must have spent days here at the least to leave such a noticeable trace. She followed the cobbled road, overlooking one of the twisting waterways which punctured the city, then stopped. Serana exhaled with a sigh.

"A temple of Mara. A little obvious now I think about it… Whatever game you're playing Aelfwynn, it's a dangerous one."

Serana had never been comfortable around temples. They seemed to create a deep sense of unease within her, the very air seemed to silently scream at her trespass whenever she came near. She faintly recalled old nightmares, where she would enter one of these places only to burst into flame, begging for her mother and father to help her, but unable to notice her plight over the sound of their hatred for each other.

 _These are a child's fears_ , Serana thought to herself, purposefully mounting the steps and opening one of the two wooden doors. Taking her first tentative steps down the aisle of this brightly lit chapel, Serana marvelled for a moment at the contrast to the world she had just walked in from. Whilst Frostfall had claimed Riften for its own, the air within the temple radiated with an unyielding warmth. Candlelight swallowed shadows wherever they tried to hide, and a statue at the centre wept golden tears unendingly. The statue seemed uncannily familiar to Serana, though for the life of her she couldn't quite place where.

A Dunmer woman appeared to be polishing the statue, lovingly shining the idol's smooth surface. Serana softly approached, her nimble step making no sound across the thin carpet running along the length of the aisle.

She coughed purposefully.

The Dunmer turned around, smiling warmly as she interlocked her fingers.

"Greetings child. Do you seek Mara's blessing?"

"Not… not exactly. I'm looking for my… my cousin? She's umm, well she's hard to miss. Short, white-hair, pale. She tends to mope around a lot? Oh, and she's like you. Wears the robe and everything."

 _Oh, well done Serana. You couldn't come up with a better story?_

"She tends to be a little unstable. I really ought to find her, bring her home."

The Dunmer looked thoughtful for a moment, her eyes seeming to trace Serana's face, before following her neckline down to the royal armour which she wore.

"I know who you are, Daughter of Volkihar" the priestess replied, a sudden steel emerging in her voice. "Know that Aelfwynn is under the temple's protection, and so beyond your reach."

 _She told the mortals? Had she any idea how dangerous that was for them? Eugh, well it was confirmation at least._

"Look, I don't know what she told you. But she probably mentioned that my father and I hardly get along. Aelfwynn's got herself in the middle of a disaster, and believe or not I really am trying to help her. So please, can you just tell me where she is?"

The Elf seemed to battle with indecision for a moment. She let out a deep breath.

"We don't know child. She vanished a few nights ago."

"She left the city?" Serana asked.

"Not so child. She had planned to meet someone at the docks, she used to wait every night to see if he would arrive."

"Who?" Serana asked, her curiosity piquing.

"I've said all I can vampire. Please, unless you truly intend to ask our Lady's forgiveness, it would be best if you left."

Serana didn't need to be told twice. Her very presence in the temple seemed to make every hair she had stand on end. She thanked the priestess and left, noticing a surprised relief in her face.

The city was buzzing with activity. A large crowd gathered around one of the central market stalls, where a red-haired Nord in fine blue clothes allured the crowd into buying his large red potion-bottles with his soft tones, accentuated by the regular chime of the Blacksmith's hammer close by. Crates of fish were being carried up from the docks, whilst the purple clad guards kept a watchful eye on the proceedings. Serana made sure to draw little attention to herself, pulling her hood up and keeping to the shade cast by the wooden buildings.

Serana winced from the muted winter sun striking her unopposed as she stepped from the protection of Riften's naturally shadowed alleys, and descended towards the docks. Birds sang as they circled endlessly above the still-sparkling water. The air was coloured by the good-natured banter of Nord fishermen as they unloaded their catches onto the quays, before settling down to a celebratory mead.

Serana took a moment to soak in the beauty of the scene. Even though her vampiric nature left her unable to fully immerse herself in it, she couldn't help but absorb the wonder of it all. The sparkling waters, the abundance of well… life. Its symptoms were everywhere, from the birds singing in the sky, to the men on the land, to the fish occasionally breaking the surface of the lake, hungrily feeding on unwary surface-skating insects.

A perfection her father was determined to darken.

In the past, Serana had believed her father's plan was madness for the simple reason it would unite all of the mortal-kind against vampires, inevitably swarming them under. But now? Having travelled this strange and wondrous land, seen its sights and watched its people, she couldn't help but feel a new resolve to save it. Even if this place had such foul-mouthed carriage drivers' in it.

Wrapped from head to toe in vampiric leather, Serana walked along the wooden piers, looking for any signs of her wayward acquaintance. It didn't take long for a faint odour to catch in her nose. Following one of the more central piers, Serana noticed a dark stain, long since having dried on one of the wooden planks hanging above the waterline. The scent was nearly unmistakeable.

 _So, she was attacked. Unless her self-loathing has developed into self-harm…_

The scent now focused in her mind, Serana traced the nearly invisible traces of blood leading away from the dried splatter, travelling further along the wooden walkway, and further out onto the lake. At the end of the trail, a lone, unattended longboat was gently swaying amidst the natural currents of the lake. It didn't take long for Serana to put the pieces together.

 _Okay then, they took her out onto the lake. But where – and more importantly, why?_

Serana looked out over the glare of the sparkling daylight waters. There was an impressive mansion near the lake's centre, that could well be where whoever it was could have taken her. And as for who… well she had no idea. She had heard on her travels that Riften was a den of vice and iniquity, perhaps the blood of a vampire, especially that of one carrying the bloodstone chalice could be a valuable commodity. There was also this mysterious 'Dawnguard', though she had no idea where they were based. Perhaps that island was their stronghold? Then again maybe not. If they knew the first thing about Volkihar vampires, they would know hiding in the middle of a lake was not a particularly inspired idea…

Quickly casting her eyes over the docks to check she wasn't being observed, Serana slipped onto the long boat, its answering creaks lost amidst the nautical symphony of the working dockyard. Serana knew little about the complexities of boats. She had almost no experience with the damn things beyond the leaky adventures of the small dinghy which occasionally carried her from her island home. Nonetheless, one particular detail struck her as unusual. A stout rope, one end tied firmly around a cleat, had clearly been cut. Serana looked at it curiously, running her finger over the end. It had been a fairly clean break, not sawn away at with a crude knife at least.

 _A sword? An axe maybe?_

The question was, why was the rope cut – and what was it for in the first place? Leaping back onto the Pier, Serana retraced her steps, taking a moment to examine a similar boat further back towards the town. Sure enough, a rope was in the same position near the bow. The rope lay tightly coiled on the deck, whilst the unseen end snaked off over the side. Serana followed it, leaning over the edge. A foot below her, she saw the rope was supporting a large metal anchor, motionlessly suspended above the vibrant green water.

 _So, Aelfwynn was attacked, dragged onto the boat and at some point whoever took her decided to let the anchor fall into the water, before bringing the boat back? That makes no sense at al-_

Serana's eyes widened as the fragments of horrific truth started to fit together. Her head snapped towards the open lake.

 _Oh Gods…_

* * *

Nightmares began to blend with reality, the horrors of both threatening to consume the other. By day, the hateful sun would try to singe her flesh, harmonised by the silver at her wrists and ankles, only to be muted into harmless agony beneath the waters of the lake. Aelfwynn wasn't sure how much of the suffocating water was her own tears. Once in a while, a curious slaughterfish would sink its mangled fangs into one of her arms or legs, before moving off again to vanish amidst the underwater gloom, repulsed by the taste of her cold, lifeless flesh. Each time she would watch helplessly as droplets of her precious life-blood dissipating into the lake, let out a silent scream and thrash her starved limbs wildly.

Faces swam in front of Aelfwynn's feverish vision, no longer requiring unconsciousness to haunt her. Sometimes she thought she saw countless other bodies lying around on the lake's bed – those of the people she killed, she ruined, and even more crushingly those she failed. Other times she saw Jon, clawing at her flesh with a dagger that failed to end her torment as her unthinking fangs reached for him. Now Aelfwynn dreamt she saw Serana floating above her, her pale form bordered by moonlight. Her face seemed filled with a furious determination, as her perfect golden eyes flitted across Aelfwynn, while her hands worked at some unseen task. She felt the pain scalding her wrists and ankles begin to fade, the immense burden on her limbs loosening and her body rising precious inches in the water.

And suddenly she was free. She needed to be free. Murderous hunger for nourishment and revenge overruled any other judgement, any other thought. Aelfwynn began to claw through the water, causing vast plumes of silty dirt to render the water almost opaque. Lost in the screams of the beast, she flailed directionless before she felt a hand grip her by the scruff of her robe hauling her inexorably upwards.

Aelfwynn gasped as she broke the surface, the drowned vampire beginning to retch the water from her dead lungs as Serana gently dropped her onto the shore.


	27. Chapter 27: The Priest and the Predator

Chapter 27: The Prison, the Priest and the Predator

Frieda's head still swam as she woke. She waved one leather-gloved hand in front of her face, trying to clear the haze which blurred her vision. She ran the metal tipped fingers through her hair, trying to grip onto tangible reality, rather than the nightmarish visions which had drowned her.

The stale, unmoving air, faintly imbued with earthy fragrance informed Frieda that she was clearly some distance below ground. She turned her head, glancing all around her. Whilst the darkness would usually pose no difficulty to a keen-eyed creature of the night, the greasy burning torch hanging on the outside of the small structure she appeared to be inside served to blind Frieda to what lay beyond. Two facts however, appeared completely clear.

She was in a cage. And she wasn't alone.

The sweet melody of warm blood sang to the dry ache festering in Frieda's throat, causing the red lips to recede over her fangs, and her nails to sharpen in a claw-like manner. How much time had passed while she lay on the damp, mossy stone floor was unclear, but the thirst told her it had been a couple days at the least.

A neatly-bearded Imperial stood about two feet away from her, his arms crossed contemptuously as he stared out into the vast emptiness which lay beyond. He wore a robe so similar to that of Frieda's sire it immediately set her teeth on edge, the only difference being a subtle orange hue, and an amulet in the shape of a horn hanging from his neck. He appeared to be arguing with himself, seemingly too occupied with his self-recriminations to have noticed her regaining consciousness. Frieda felt a natural hungry smirk return to her face. She may have been a little out of sorts, but the instinct of the kill required no thought. It was natural as breathing – or rather of not.

She sprang at him viciously, positioning her arms to restrain him whilst her fangs aimed instinctually for his exposed neck. Suddenly Frieda cried out as she made contact with a blindingly bright shield of energy, throwing her momentum back at her. She landed back in the corner with an inelegant thud.

"Arkay says you probably shouldn't try that again" the man said plainly, only now turning to face Frieda's crumpled form. "He says we're going to need each other if we plan to get out of here."

"I'm sorry, what?" Frieda snapped, rubbing the smarting pain at the crest of her head.

"I doubt it myself, you're a vampire after all. but He insists you're more use to me alive."

Frieda nearly started choking, struggling to rise to her feet. "Use to you?!" She spat. "I'm nobody's tool priest. You're just another bloody morsel, whether you've got a few pathetic magic tricks up your sleeve or not!"

"Charming. What a wonderful addition to this dreary place you make vampire. And if I were you, I would hardly be so dismissive of my 'magic tricks'. Arkay has taught me plentiful ways of repelling your kind. He should hardly have bothered. I hope you realise that you are rather low on the daedric food chain?"

That was not the response she was expecting. Slightly flustered by the priest's arrogance, Frieda started towards him.

"Not sure you have any right to be talking about rightful places on the food chain…" she growled through bared fangs, their faces only hateful inches apart.

Suddenly both Frieda and the Priest cried out in agony as the cage was infused with an enormous bolt of lightning, burning their skin and singeing their clothes.

"If you've had quite enough…" An unamused, throaty female voice intoned from outside the cage. "It's terribly difficult to concentrate while the two of you are at each other's throats. I thought it might be quite amusing to have one of you destroy the other, but this endless wittering is starting to get on my nerves."

A black-robed figure emerged from out of the surrounding darkness. Whilst the top-half of her face was obscured by her rough-spun hood, the golden skin around her self-satisfied mouth made it clear she was an Altmer. With one final agonising jolt for good measure arcing wildly from her bare hands, the woman turned and began to walk briskly away from the cage.

Her vision now beginning to clear, Frieda could see into the rest of the chamber. The room certainly suggested they were in the central chamber of some ancient Nordic ruin – the rather grim architectural style was unmistakeable, and the vast flights of stairs, pillars and rather central altar all spoke of a grandeur not often found in structures made by such a primitive people. Above the altar, a great carved face hung ominously, staring at the room yet seeing nothing.

 _And they certainly haven't got better with age…_ Frieda thought to herself wryly.

A few other figures dotted the chamber. They looked like Vigilants, magical robes concealing the heavy plate armour they wore beneath. However, there was something distinctly wrong about them. They patrolled the chamber with unerring purpose, yet Frieda could see their faces were blank, unseeing. Stranger still was the distinct crimson, whispering mist which circled their heads endlessly.

Frieda looked over at her fellow captive. Whilst the desire to quench her thirst was nearly unbearable, she realised the pragmatism of keeping him alive – for now at least. His life would hardly matter once she was free. She licked her lips for a moment in anticipation. She had no memory of exactly how she ended up in this predicament, and had little to no idea what she was up against – the elf hag aside.

"You got a name priest?"

"Florentius Baenius."

"Frieda."

"I think I'll stick with vampire."

 _Ooh he's just asking to be bitten._

"How did I get here?" Frieda asked him bluntly.

"You don't remember?" The priest asked with contempt. "Hmm… oh yes? Ah, Arkay says you probably don't. Well, let's see…"

Frieda began to chew on her golden plait in frustration.

"You and your friends attempted to murder my colleagues and I. As I recall, we were alerted by your rather obnoxious screams. Your fellow undead clearly didn't take too kindly to you ruining their bloodbath and left you behind. We bound you. The other vigilants hoped to interrogate you before giving you the gift of death. Any of that sound familiar?"

Frieda squinted her eyes with concentration. "I remember… coming to this place. We'd tracked a group of vigilants travelling into the mountains – survivors from the slaughter at the hall. But after we arrived at the ruins… I was drowning. Burning. Screaming, but no one could hear."

"Trust me, Arkay and I heard you - loud and clear. It's certainly interesting, I didn't realise madness had made much headway amongst the undead."

"Don't you dare! For all I know, it's something your Vigilants did to my mind."

 _And I'm certainly not the mad one of the family_ , Frieda thought, her mind lingering on her sire for a moment.

"Think what you like, but surely even an animal like you knows enough to realise that Stendarr's faithful don't deal in mind games."

Frieda considered it for a moment. No, it didn't seem their style. The Vigilants were a refreshingly simple foe, direct and brutal. Yes, they were pathetically weak for the most part, but Frieda could admire that much in them.

"Okay then meat, you may have a point. So, how did _you_ end up in here."

"Ah. Yes, as it turns out – your attack was only the start of our problems."

Frieda listened with minimal interest as Florentius explained the downfall of the Vigilants who had captured her so shamefully easily. He told her of how as his comrades dug, a single word would begin to infiltrate their conversations, small slips of the tongue. Soon they would begin sleepwalking, whispering one word, only one, and soon that strange stupor would persist even when they were awake. After a while Florentius could not even communicate with his fellows, but they would move to attack him whenever he moved to leave.

"The endless digging continued, until they found this chamber. And found her inside. Minorne ordered I be brought to her, and spent a day or so trying to break my will. In the end, once she realised our minds were too much for her, Minorne thought it amusing to lock you in here with me. Glad you didn't give her the satisfaction of devouring me alive. Not before we give that witch what she deserves."

"Don't mention it" Frieda replied with a small chuckle. "But hey, isn't revenge supposed to be a sin to you people?"

Florentius looked thoughtful for a moment. "Arkay says its excusable if its in a good cause."

"Of course he does…" Frieda smiled. "So, any ideas?"

The priest turned away for a moment, looking over to the figure of Minorne bent over the black altar, before leaning in close to Frieda.

"Well, Arkay and I think if the staff she carries is destroyed, her power over my colleagues should dissipate. So all that remains for us to do is..."

Frieda interrupted him. "Break out of the cage, snap the witch's neck, drain every drop of her blood until she crumples like a dried husk, snap the staff and then we part company?"

"Well... yes. I'm not sure Arkay approves, but… that appears to be the long and short of it."

Frieda lifted her hand, making a show of running a sharp finger along Florentius' robed upper arm. "and what stops you and your friends from turning to me to dust the moment I kill Minorne for you hmm?"

"I highly doubt they'll be in a state to stop you. Arkay thinks you'll be alright. Probably. He doesn't like you very much, so he might be lying."

Frieda rolled her eyes. "It'll have to do."

* * *

Whilst feigning the continuation of their arguments, Frieda gradually went to work on the lock. Without making her intentions transparent, the end of one gloved finger gradually began to infuse the lock with ice. Frieda may never been the most subtle or cunning of her coven, but she understood that metal tended to weaken, becoming brittle when cooled with Volkihar frost magic.

Once she was fairly certain it had been long enough, she signalled Florentius with a slight nod. In a single fluid movement, Frieda leapt into the air, and targeted the rusty cage door with a savagely elegant kick. The lock shattered with a metallic screech, rousing even Minorne from her focused study at the altar. She reacted immediately, casting an arcing bolt of lightning straight and true towards Frieda's chest.

Then Florentius was there, stepping in front of his fellow escapee. A rippling ward of transparent energy caught the blow, shattering on impact but not before reflecting the lightning, blackening and cracking a nearby stone pillar, which began to sway dangerously. The room suddenly began to fill with the distant sound of armoured boots tramping over stone, echoing from beyond the chamber.

"Minorne. Protect…. Minorne!"

The first two possessed Vigilants sprinted up the stairs, axe and sword ready to strike. Frieda began to move to intercept, but Florentius placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Close your eyes."

Frieda couldn't see any reason to do so, but something in his voice, the absolute faith, confidence, made her follow his order nonetheless.

Even behind her closed eyes, Frieda felt the painful intensity of the bright flash of light all around her. When she opened them, she saw the priest grab the axe out of the hand of one of the dazed Vigilants, proceeding to hit him on the head with the blunt side.

"Apologies Moric" he said, "But Arkay says it was absolutely necessary".

Meanwhile, Frieda grabbed the second vigilant by her wrist, twisting it viciously until it cracked, and the steel sword merely slipped from her grasp. Frieda was unnerved by the complete lack of response from the vigilant. It was hardly sporting without victim participation. In frustration as much as hunger, Frieda struck her across the face before tearing into her neck viciously. Sated for the moment, Frieda discarded the mortal, only to catch Florentius' disgusted expression as his former colleague's blood freely poured from the vampire's chin.

She rolled her eyes again. "She'll live."

Florentius turned to the enraged Minorne, now standing beside her altar, the staff of Ruunvald pulsating with malevolent energy in her grasp. The wooden shaft was decorated with carved golden cladding, and at its crown reigned a beautiful blood-red crystal.

"It's over Minorne. Unless you want to face Arkay's wrath – free my comrades. Break your spell!"

Minorne began to laugh then, a deep, raspy sound which echoed around the ancient chamber. It was the kind of sinister laugh Frieda had heard vampires practicing when they thought they were alone.

"Both are you are as dust to me. I have lain within this chamber for hundreds of lifetimes. I have seen empires rise and fall! What chance do you-"

Minorne was swiftly interrupted as Frieda grabbed the second Vigilant's blade, and thrust towards the sorceress' heart. Her robe stopped the blade as if it were made of stone.

"Ah" Frieda exclaimed. Minorne smiled maliciously, before enveloping her in a bolt of fire which sent her rolling down the altar steps with a shriek of pain. Frieda's blackened hands were shaking, but the blood still ran hot in her veins. She focused on pushing herself to her feet.

Three Vigilants charged into the chamber, all with the same red smog around their expressionless faces, their weapons drawn.

 _Think Frieda, think! They outnumber you, but they're walking vegetables. What would Wynn do…_

Frieda smiled as she vanished, melting into the shadows of the tomb. Minorne's slaves continued to approach, clearly confused by their disappearing foe. It appeared as if the domination of their minds by a foreign influence had drained their capacity for higher reasoning in some way. She knew Florentius wanted them alive, but in this situation, she had little choice. The realisation wasn't particularly painful.

Slipping behind the Vigilants, she emerged from the shadows to slit one's throat from behind with her stolen blade, causing him to gurgle before collapsing in a heap. The circling mist dissipated immediately as he hit the ground. As the next vigilant, a Breton girl turned to face her, Frieda grabbed her neck, her unnatural grip causing beads of blood to run over the woman's milky skin. A translucent red haze began to flow from the wound, and the woman appeared to age and wither rapidly as the life was drained from her. Frieda felt an invigoration that made her entire body shiver in glee. Lost in the music of the blood, she dragged out the final duel with the last, sword-wielding vigilant, letting him miss slash after slash before she ran him through the neck.

Allowing herself a cry of exultation, Frieda turned back towards the altar, half expecting to see an obliterated Florentius. Instead, she was surprised to find the mad monk holding his ground admirably. Minorne threw wave after wave of destruction magic against her foe, rivers of flame, lightning storms and daggers of ice, and yet Florentius held unyieldingly, casting reflective wards and counter spells at equal pace. A single stream of blood running from his brow told the only tale of weakness or injury.

 _Well well priest. Turns out you have some power to your blood after all…_

Frieda faded into shadow once more. She had a hunch she needed to test. Whilst the dark-robed elf continued her magical bombardment, Frieda snuck silently up the stairs, waiting for the opportunity to strike. Just as Minorne readied a fresh spell, focusing the magicka all around her, Frieda forced her sword brutally into Minorne's exposed back, plunging out of her gut on the other side.

Frieda pulled the Altmer close, putting her chin on the dying elf's shoulder.

"Should have paid attention to your surroundings witch," she whispered sadistically before removing the blade with a single jerk. Still clutching the staff, Minorne crumpled until she lay prostrated on the dusty cobbles.

Minorne lay dying in a rapidly expanding pool of her own essence, a look of hate and disbelief fusing into one in her golden eyes. Florentius kneeled beside her, pity lining his face.

 _The weakness of mortals_ , Frieda thought to herself. She was weak, she deserved her fate.

"Minorne. Do not let hate and evil be your last act. Free those you enslaved, and perhaps Arkay will look kindly upon you."

Minorne began to chuckle, then almost giggle spitefully. "My last act priest? My last act will sting you from beyond the grave!"

With that Minorne slid her paling hand up her staff, and before either Frieda or Florentius could react, she shattered the pinnacle crystal between her fingers, imploding with an electric crackle. Then her body fell limp, as if she had spent the entirety of her remaining life energy on that malicious, opaque act of hatred.

Sweat visibly coating his skin in the reflections of torchlight, Florentius struggled to rise to his feet. It was as if in a moment he had gone from being at his mightiest, to teetering on the brink of collapse. Frieda suddenly understood. It had been an act, the priest must have used every inch of his will to hold himself together, to show no weakness in the face of his enemy.

She'd never admit it, but Frieda was starting to feel a grudging respect for this eccentric mortal, prey though he was.

"Impressive. How'd you manage to find the willpower to do that, priest?"

Florentius narrowed his eyes with conviction. "When I fight, I am not one man. I am Arkay's bastion, Stendarr's arm. With such friends at my side, I can endure anything."

Frieda couldn't think of a tart retort to that.

* * *

Florentius felt a fist around his heart as he left the chamber. The bodies of his shattered comrades lay strewn about like a bloody harvest reaped, and so victory turned to ash in his mouth. He forced himself to remain stoic, remembering that one foe remained a threat, even if she was dead like the rest of them.

The blonde vampire strode in front of him, eyeing the bodies with indifference. Florentius was unnerved by the way she would turn to look at him, as if eyeing up a potential morsel. Even the way she moved disquieted him, her movements perfectly elegant as she prowled. Her dark lips eternally smirking against her polished marble skin certainly didn't help matters.

"Must have been the elf's last act. But hey, mission accomplished on my part."

Florentius got the impression she was trying to break him, to test his willpower.

"Their sacrifice will not be forgotten. They're with Arkay now."

"How do you know?" The vampire asked. "How do you know your gods don't just use up your lives and discard you? In a world full of suffering – I can't even begin to believe the gods care one jot about the lot of us."

"And yet you let the King of Rape take your soul… damned yourself for an eternity."

Frieda shrugged with maddening indifference. "At least Molag Bal gave me something real. He gave me power. He gave me self-determination – he freed me from controlling men and hypocrite priests."

Frieda's smiled contorted into a grimace. "Priests who were so afraid of the emptiness of their lives they even convinced themselves their god spoke to them."

"Arkay speaks to all of us," Florentius replied. "Even when they aren't aware of it. Even amongst the rain, in the graveyard where she turned you."

Frieda's expression failed to hide the shock which appeared to ripple through her. "How could you…"

Florentius raised his brow expectantly. Frieda made an indelicate sound and began the long climb out of the excavation. After she climbed several feet, he called out to her.

"What will you do now, vampire?"

"Hmph. Could ask you the same thing. Seeing as you're the last of your kind and all…"

Florentius stared at her blankly.

"Hate to break it to you Florentius, but your 'Hall of the Vigilants' is nothing more than a cinder."

"Poppycock. Absolute rot! Wait… really? You're sure? You could have mentioned it sooner… I know we were busy, but… oh nevermind."

Her vicious grin returned as Frieda slowly began to stalk back down the wooden walkway. "Would be a kindness really, to leave you here with your comrades, after a noble fight with the monstrous vampire…"

She reached one hand behind her, clearly reaching for a weapon as she bared her fangs.

"and what will you do?" Florentius asked plainly. "Your undead friends left you here to die if you recall, and Arkay tells me it's unlikely they'll be pleased to see you."

Frieda stopped her hand in its tracks, the ends of her fingers still twitching with uncertainty.

So, the priest and the predator stood in thickening silence, waiting for the other to make a move.


	28. Chapter 28: Strange Bedfellows

Chapter 28: Strange Bedfellows

Serana watched almost nauseously as the creature which she had rescued from the depths dug her claws into the dirt, as if clinging on for dear life. She barely recognised the fledgling whom a mere week ago had caught her as she fell from her Dimhollow tomb.

She didn't even look like a vampire anymore.

Her white skin was now marred with a tainted green tinge, hanging hideously loosely from her bones. Her previously pure hair was thick and matted with mud and slime. Long green leaves twisted like rotting tentacles around her arms and legs, almost fused with the soaked brown robe. Her face was the only familiar give-away. The hollow cheeks and pronounced bones were unmistakeable, accentuated by the fiery pits which not even the lake could extinguish. The burns around the wrists and ankles were hard to even look at, mangled by the constant silver scalding, perpetually extinguished by the water.

Serana couldn't even imagine who could do such a thing. To want to kill vampires was one thing but this… This was the work of a monster. It was never meant to kill, it was meant to torture, and clearly not for information or any other potentially justifiable means. Whether out of madness, hatred or just pure sadism, Serana could not begin to fathom.

Walking to the small hollow in the ridge where she had made camp, Serana grabbed the gagged and bound bandit she had captured before dusk, and began to haul him towards the shoreline. She knew well that Aelfwynn seemed to be deeply uncomfortable with drinking human blood, in fact her display in that nameless cave in the Reach had shown Serana how far she would go to avoid it. Yet she was deeply perplexed by Aelfwynn's abhorrence towards drinking from mortals. To Serana, it was natural. It was the order of things. In denying that basic truth, Aelfwynn was denying what she was, and as a result was clearly capable of driving herself into a state of utter torment, and exposing herself to whatever had left her for death here at the lake.

"Sorry Aelfwyyn, but I don't think draining rats is going to give you what you need."

Serana watched as Aelfwynn's body began to convulse as the scent hit her. She was oddly fascinated by the sight even as it repulsed her. As a pure-blooded vampire, Serana rarely needed to feed out of pure thirst, and so had little experience of what a starving vampire looked like. Aelfwynn's withered, clawed hands reached out for her victim, still desperately wrestling against his fate. After pausing briefly, and letting out a pained whimper, she bit into his neck with a desperate longing. Aelfwynn gripped the man's arms as if they constituted the entirety of existence, thin streaks of blood running down them frenetically as her claws penetrated his skin.

A strange thought hit Serana then. Looking into the man's terrified face, she was reminded of those laughing men on the dockyard she had seen earlier that day, and those she had seen about the city.

 _Is he so different?_

She shook her head slightly, as if trying to clear the invasive thought from her mind.

Serana placed one hand on the back of Aelfwynn's neck, pulling her free of the still squirming man before she could finish him. Aelfwynn let out a startled hiss, pouncing on Serana viciously and causing her to lose her footing. Flat on her back, Serana grabbed Aelfwynn's wrists as she attempted to claw madly at her face, struggling to restrain the bestial girl.

Gradually, her struggles began to lessen. Serana saw distant lights appear to grow closer in Aelfwynn's eyes as her satiated body began to gradually reform in some semblance of normality, before she began to blink in disoriented confusion. She raised one pale hand to touch her bloodied mouth, then stared at it for a moment. Her eyes widened in apparent horror, before she collapsed atop Serana in a fit of panicked tears.

Serana felt the waves of guilt crash over her, before she began to tentatively pat Aelfwynn on the back consolingly.

* * *

She didn't speak for the longest time.

Aelfwynn merely sat by the lakeside staring into nothing, every so often reaching down with one hand to grasp a fistful of earth reassuringly. After she had helped Aelfwynn to her current position learning against the bank and allowed the bandit to flee into the wilderness, Serana had seemingly been content to leave her to coalesce, taking the time to try and wring the water out of her own hair and armour. But after no more than an hour or so, Serana came at sat beside her, clearing a lock of hair from her face with intent.

"I need to know what happened."

Aelfwynn said nothing for several seconds, then for the first time turned to look at Serana straight in the eyes.

"I drowned" she said softly, somehow lost in the words.

Serana's eyes softened sympathetically. "I know… but you're safe now. But if you want us to stay that way I need to know how it happened."

 _Us?_ Aelfwynn tried to focus, to drag her thoughts away from her torment and betrayal. She didn't have to know the details. She didn't have to know it was Jon.

"It was…. the Dawnguard, like those at Dimhollow. They… they found me. They t-took the chalice your father gave me and left me to d-d-die." Aelfwynn began shaking again, unable to quell the panic which had ruled every moment in the water.

"Right." Serana looked at her hands for a moment, interlocking them restlessly. "Aelfwynn, I found this at the docks."

Aelfwynn turned as Serana placed a crumpled note into her lap. She took a moment to unfurl it, her eyes widening as her own handwriting became clear on the creased parchment. She looked at Serana again, but her expression was unreadable.

The words came to her more easily this time.

"Look, Serana I didn't have a choice. Your father… what he's trying to do to the sun, to the world is monstrous. He has to be stopped." Aelfwynn braced herself for the reaction.

"Well that's pretty obvious…" Serana retorted in a slightly condescending tone "What do you think I've been trying to do since you freed me?"

Aelfwynn stared at her blankly.

"How is it that we walked across Skyrim together, then you lived in my home for days yet somehow did pick up on the fact that my father and I really, really don't get along?"

Aelfwynn began to feel the familiar twinges of emotion returning to her numb form, as Serana's self-centred demand rang in the cold night air.

"Oh I don't know…" Aelfwynn began, her shattered voice rising. "Maybe because you left us at your father's mercy the moment we arrived at the castle? Maybe because prior to that, every time you felt the need to speak to me you decided mocking or disapproving of me was a better use of your time?"

Serana looked genuinely startled, hurt even.

"Look," Aelfwynn began apologetically. "I'm sorry I didn't come to you before, or realise you actually cared a jot about what happens to me. But these Dawnguard… I thought they were the only ones opposing your father who cared about the people of Skyrim. The Jarls and the Imperials are too busy fighting their war, and anyone else has their hands full with the dragon crisis. The vampires in your father's court who may have misgivings about his plan care nothing for them either, only for their own schemes and position. But I was wrong. We can't rely on the Dawnguard. I've seen soldiers before Serana, I've patched enough of them up to know the type. But they all had some basic something in common, some humanity. These Dawnguard seem utterly without it."

Balgruuf's words from so long ago echoed in her mind.

 _You know what truly makes you a monster girl? A monster never looks back. A monster feels nothing…_

Perhaps that's what Jon had become. Perhaps she had made him a monster after all.

Serana nodded. "Apology accepted. So, since you realise asking those sworn to hunt you down and kill you is a bad idea, how about you work with me to stop father instead, hmm?"

Aelfwynn thought about it for a moment. Irritating as she was, Serana would be a welcome ally. It was hardly as if she had even a handful left in Skyrim, and even most of those she couldn't trust. Not to mention that Serana was… unusual as far as vampires were concerned. She was arrogant, superior and occasionally callous to be sure. But she lacked the casual brutality, the sadism so common to most children of the night. She seemed almost more human, though Aelfwynn doubted she would take it as a compliment.

"Alright Serana. But there's something I need to know," Aelfwynn continued. "You want to stop him, stop your father from darkening this world. Sure, you may not like each other but that isn't enough. I need to know why."

Serana's golden eyes took on a look of hardened resolve. "Because if my father succeeds in darkening the sun, the mortals will come for us. All of them. Suddenly their dragons and wars and petty squabbles in Skyrim and beyond won't matter. Maybe hatred forms fragile alliances, but we'll all be dust before they start turning on each other."

Serana paused, taking a moment to breathe the frigid night air in and out.

"So, is that enough for you? Even if my heart doesn't bleed for your mortal flock?"

Aelfwynn mulled her words over, curious at how Serana perceived her world.

"It'll do." Aelfwynn decided, holding out a hand invitingly. Serana stared at it for a moment, her expression confused, before she awkwardly put her hand in Aelfwynn's. A slight smile creeping unbidden onto her face, Aelfwynn shook it up and down. Serana chuckled softly, before helping Aelfwynn to her feet. Aelfwynn didn't protest. The sooner she was away from this place the better.

* * *

Aelfwynn was gratified to find Serana had apparently recovered her satchel – or rather what was left of it - somewhere along the banks of the lake. Some of her belongings were somewhat intact, although she was particularly bereaved to find Danica's sun-magic tome utterly ruined. The ink had run mercilessly over the pages, which had themselves clung to each other to the point of having merged. At least the map – once it dried – was still vaguely readable. Large geographical formations are hard to blur entirely after all.

The landscape began to change, in some ways gradually, such as the length and concentration of grassy tufts, in others striking and immediate, such as the mighty peaks of the Velothi mountains towering far above.

The Rift was famed for its autumnal beauty, but all colours lay dying amidst the small snowdrifts. The path wound lazily downwards, curling around great fallen logs that Aelfwynn imagined children might spend a delighted afternoon, and small frozen pools slumbering beneath the first Eastmarch pines they encountered.

"So umm, Serana?" Aelfwyn asked, breaking the lengthy silence which had hung smothering between them.

"mhm?" Serana responded.

"What are we doing next? I mean, your father is presumably expecting us back… and I doubt he's going to be happy."

Serana hummed with mock amusement. "Trust me, happiness is going to be the least of your worries. The chalice is gone, and even if I wanted to get it back, I don't feel like wading through a host of vampire hunters to try and get it…"

"So, where are we going?"

"Well, father tried to shoo me out of the castle pretty quickly, so I made sure to hang around for a little while. I've always been rather talented at being invisible to father, so it wasn't too hard. Turns out he gave another one of his grandiose speeches about his destiny… but the important part was what he wanted from his underlings. What do you know about Elder Scrolls?"

Aelfwynn raised an eyebrow. "A little I suppose. There was the odd reference to them in the temple archives, but nothing substantial, everything seemed so speculative. Why, what do you know about them?"

"I mean... as much as anyone. Not a lot. You'd figure a couple hundred years locked away with one would have given me some insights, but no. Turns out you don't learn much from just sleeping with something."

Serana's penetrating glare as she finished her statement made it impossible to meet her gaze.

Serana smirked, apparently amused by Aelfwynn's discomfort. "Well anyway, it turns out father has managed to lure a moth priest to Skyrim."

All other concerns evaporated. "He's WHAT?!"

A few more pieces of the ersatz puzzle began to fall into place. Aelfwynn had wondered for the longest time how Harkon had intended to use an Elder Scroll he wouldn't dare open. She had wondered on occasion if the man was so deluded he honestly believe his power exceeded that of the scroll – it would certainly make her job easier, since a blind, mad adversary was far easier to deal with. But now she knew.

"Where is the priest now?" Aelfwynn asked with sudden urgency.

"No idea. But well, back before I... you know. The College of Winterhold was the first place I'd think to go for any kind of magic or historical thing. The wizards know about all kinds of things that people shouldn't know about."

 _The college. Where I planned to go before…_ Aelfwynn shuddered as she felt the watery claws emerging from memory to prey on her frayed senses. She decided not to share her mission to pursue a cure with Serana. She would never understand, she couldn't. She had presumably been a vampire for centuries, possibly millienia, and perhaps had long forgotten what it meant to be human. To feel a warmth in your cheeks and your heart race. To not be a slave to blood and its terrible, lusty call.

"So, that's where we're headed?"

"Unless you have any objections?" Serana replied snarkily as she stopped, placing a hand on her waist.

Aelfwynn shook her head nonchalantly, before Serana resumed her previous pace.

"So, once we find this priest – I mean how do we keep him safe?"

"We don't" Serana replied. Swiftly answering Aelfwynn's raised eyebrow, she continued. "Bringing the moth priest will stop father… well…"

"Killing me?"

"Well… yes. Once you bring him the priest, it should convince him you're still useful enough to keep around – as long as you can keep up that whole 'ambitious fledgling' act. Not to mention, we'll be close enough to father to sabotage his plans from the inside."

Aelfwynn felt a tightness in her stomach. "You want me to hand over an innocent, a fellow priest to the mercy of Lord Harkon?"

Serana appeared to try and look sympathetic. "Look, I know you aren't going to be too comfortable with this. But think about it, father knows how important he or she is to his plan – the priest will be safe there."

"Unless he enthralls him," Aelfwynn pointed out.

"It could well happen," Serana admitted. "But… I have another idea that may solve that problem. So, you in?"

Aelfwynn mulled it over. As much as it felt wrong, Aelfwynn couldn't see a lot of other options. Harkon would probably tear his way through anyone who tried to protect the priest, and if she and Serana didn't capture him, another vampire would. As for the Dawnguard - Aelfwynn shivered involuntarily as she thought of them. The Dawnguard knew Harkon had an Elder Scroll, and after the display at the docks, she wouldn't put it past them to kill him in cold blood just to stop Harkon.

"Alright Serana, I'll play along for now."

* * *

Eventually, the two vampires finished their winding descent, and the nocturnal world opened up in all directions. A great valley extended far to the North and the West, whilst Masser and Secunda shone mysteriously upon pale mists hovering sluggishly above the ground. But that was not filled Aelfwynn with a sense of awe. Great cracks ran through the land, and out of the fissure great plumes of steam rose gleefully into the air. Elsewhere great pools of glowing, warm turquoise water melted the inches of snow which had fallen on the rest of the landscape. An oasis of warmth in a frozen desert. Fireflies and moths flittering from trees served as natural ornamentation, adding fragments of colour to the night.

Aelfwynn - to Serana's surprise - started to run towards the closest pool, crouching on a bank before reaching towards the water with almost childish wonder. She looked back at her regal companion, who seemed to be beginning to appreciate the beauty of the scene.

"Oh wow." Serana whispered softly. "This is gorgeous."

Serana sat beside her then, and the two simply gazed out over the volcanic springs, enjoying the moment. Yet after a while, Aelfwynn was unable to contain her curiosity any longer. A question had been gnawing away at her since her last conversation with the pure-blood vampire.

"Serana, are you afraid of mortals?"

The sudden question seemed to catch her of guard. "Where did this come from?" She asked with surprise.

"The way you talked about them earlier, it was almost as if they were the monsters to you."

"Aelfwynn… look. They hate us. Their gods hate us. They consider our very existence an abomination and will kill us on sight. I'm sure they'll tell you about the vampires who hide in caves and ruins, but never who drove them there in the first place. There's a reason I was raised on an island you know…"

Aelfwynn was taken aback at that. "But Serana, vampires are by their… by our very nature unnatural, we were made by evil!"

"So, some gods created them, another god created us?" Serana snapped back. "Oh, because they came first we're unnatural now?"

"Serana, don't you realise why they hate us? We kill them for food, we enslave their kind – I mean even back at castle Volkihar…"

Serana cut her off. "Look, you haven't been a vampire for very long, so you're a little naïve" she began, spreading her hands. "Aelfwynn, most of the mortals who serve us at the castle came to us willingly. They see us as superior beings – they choose to worship or serve us in exchange for blood, and the power and pleasure it grants them. I'm not saying it's right or wrong, but things are more complicated than your temple education will admit. You grew up fearing and hating us – is it any surprise that now you hate yourself?"

"This isn't about me Serana!" Aelfwynn exclaimed, her hushed voice catching in her half-bared fangs.

"Isn't it? Aelfwynn, the first time we met you nearly let those vampire hunters kill you. Then you starved yourself to the point you needed to feed on rodents – then you stormed into our castle and tried to convince the most powerful, psychopathic vampire in Skyrim to trust you. Oh, and now I find you at the bottom of a lake because you wrote a letter saying 'Hello vampire hunters who nearly impaled me with bolts, I'm at the docks – come and kill me!' All of that tells me that no matter what you say about helping the defenceless, underneath you're just trying to get yourself killed. Because for whatever reason that's easier for you than accepting what you are."

"Serana, if I'm so pathetic to you, if you clearly despise me so much, why in oblivion did you bother to rescue me? Why bother to track this moth priest at all?"

"I owed you that much. Look, Aelfwynn I don't hate you – I… I just want to help you see. And lets face it, there's no one else in father's court I could come to – so I can't have you running towards the nearest pointy stick the first chance you get!" Serana placed her hand on Aelfwynn's forearm uncertainly. "I need you with me on this."

Aelfwynn looked pensive for a moment, watching the luna moths flapping in the heated night air. "I get it Serana. I've been a mess for a while, and you're right to notice it. But I'm passed it now. Despite how it ended, a few days in seclusion in the Riften benevolence was just what I needed. I have purpose now, I have a mission. I'm with you."

Serana smiled. "Good. Now, pretty as this is, we'd better get moving. We'll need to find a cave so you don't combust the moment the sun rises…"

Her jovial manner was infectious, and for a moment their disagreements lay forgotten. "Charming. Come on then, or we won't find one that meets with your standards…"


	29. Chapter 29: Guilt

_**Author's Note:**_ _Thank you to all of you who have left reviews for me recently. It's been so heart-warming to know that so many of you are engaging with the story, it inspired me to write two chapters concurrently. So, I hope you enjoy, and feel free to let me know what you think!_

Chapter 29: Guilt

Sihtric leafed absently through the pages of one of Kodlak's journals, looking for words of wisdom to ease his troubled mind. With his free hand he reached for the goblet of alto wine waiting atop the map of Skyrim laid out on the desk, taking a deep sip and letting the heady liquid swirl around his mouth.

A firm series of knocks at the door to the Harbinger's chambers brought him out of his musings.

"Can't it wait?" Sihtric called out to the unseen visitor, straightening up in the aged wooden chair.

"I suppose," A rich, familiar voice called out from beyond the door. "But I thought it best to pay my respects."

Sihtric almost leapt from the chair, yanking the door open with almost excessive speed.

"Apologies Jarl Ulfric," Sihtric began, "I wasn't expecting you in the city so soon."

The jarl chuckled at the sight. "It is I who must apologies my friend, the hour is rather late. Neither did I originally, but I've often found it best to keep Galmar on his toes. May I come in?"

Sihtric stood aside, raising his arm in invitation. Ulfric gazed around the room with a nostalgic smile, before taking a seat at the small table in the corner.

"It's been many years since I had the pleasure to visit Jorrvaskr. It's strange to think that countless numbers of Skyrim's heroes have resided here, within these walls."

"You've been here before my Jarl?"

"Yes, once. For the funeral rites of Harbinger Askar. As with all Harbingers before or since, he inspired a powerful legacy."

Sihtric smiled at that, taking a seat opposite his rebel leader, and placing the journal on the desk.

Ulfric cast his eyes over the leather-bound tome, smiling as he saw the title. "How are the Companions adjusting to his loss?"

"The cut runs deep my jarl, but the companions are a family, and we turn to each other in times of grief."

Ulfric nodded in understanding, his face taking on an almost sombre note before his wry smile returned. "You've changed my friend. Already you're no longer the boy I met on the road to Darkwater crossing."

Sihtric returned the smile. "You think so?"

Ulfric nodded once more. "Power and responsibility always changes men, especially when it's thrust upon them. Have I ever told you how I became Jarl of Windhelm?"

Sihtric shook his head.

"It was during the Markarth incident. After the Jarl had betrayed us to the Thalmor, and my comrades and I had been cast into the deepest dungeon they had, I heard whispers on the tongues of gossiping guards. After a while I even began to fear they were true. My father, the great bear of Eastmarch departed for Sovngard in my absence. I was forced to smuggle his eulogy out of a prison cell by bribing one of the guards. Hmph, such is the love Titus Mede has for his subjects. It was sudden, and after I finally returned to Windhelm, greeted by a people in mourning, at one with my grief and anger, I changed too. I had fought in wars, studied at the throat of the world, but it was as much the duty to them who defined the man I became in later years."

Ulfric gestured to the bottle on the table. "May I?" Sihtric nodded, before Ulfric poured himself a modest goblet.

"And now, within the course of a few weeks no less, you are named Dragonborn and Harbinger. Each one of those titles can usually contain the duty of a lifetime. One, to your fellow companions, the other – to Skyrim as a whole."

Sihtric drank deeply, his expression pensive.

"How goes your training with the Greybeards?"

Sihtric's eyes brightened. "Those first weeks it was going well. My understanding of the voice expanded like nothing I had ever learned, as if I were discovering the meaning of a language that I had always known, you know?"

Ulfric chuckled. "Actually, I'm afraid I don't. It took me years of teeth-chattering at High Hrothgar, huddled in those drafty robes before I could so much as shout a single word."

Sihtric grinned awkwardly, attempting to appear appropriately humble before he continued.

"Lately though, I've found it more difficult to spend considerable time there. I find it harder and harder to tear myself away from the world."

Ulfric clapped Sihtric warmly on the arm. "That was always my problem as well."

The Jarl of Windhelm paused for a moment, taking another drink before setting the goblet down on the table.

"The men speak highly of you Dragonborn. They say this battle may well have been lost without you."

"They're good men my jarl."

Ulfric nodded. "The best. So, I know I can trust their words. But I can sense the disquiet in you. Tell me, what is weighing on your mind?"

Sihtric sighed gently, mulling over his melancholic thoughts. "Many things my jarl. To start with, was it right to turn the companions on Whiterun with no warning? Did I abuse their trust in me to further my own cause? I convinced myself everything I did… it was right. It saved lives and brought Skyrim a step closer to unification. And yet… I can't seem to feel clean. And the Jarl's words to me after I defeated him…"

"Balgruuf? Tell me, what did the former jarl say?"

Sihtric scratched one unshaven cheek roughly. "He said I was blind, that I didn't know what I was becoming."

Ulfric creased his brow in thought for a moment. "Some men lose themselves in war. It can be a fine line between ambition and glory, and madness and bloodlust. Take Talos himself, he was a great general, winning countless battles – until Cuhlecain his king was struck down. A lesser man would have crumbled, and dreams of empire with him. But Talos saw an opportunity to aspire to greatness, and formed the empire. Other men have become tyrants. The Wolf Queen teaches us how bloodlust can become an obsession. Balgruuf was a fearful man, and perhaps he feared that's what you – what we represent – being on the wrong side of that boundary."

"Was he right?"

"Would a man lost in his own treacherous ambitions sit with another warrior and discuss it so if it were true? Would it weigh on his conscious as it so clearly does on yours?"

Ulfric paused, for a moment his eyes incalculably distant. "War is never clean dragonborn. It leaves scars on us all, even those that can't be seen. What you demonstrated here in Whiterun is that you understand war, and have a keen head for strategy. It's an invaluable resource, and one I intend to make full use of."

He paused once more. "What do you think of Vignar Gray-Mane?"

Sihtric blinked, surprised by the drift in conversation. "A good man, if a little disagreeable now and then. He certainly has a lot of experience behind him."

"He's long been our benefactor here in Whiterun. From the way he's been bullying Galmar he expects to be made jarl."

Sihtric smirked, amused at the idea that anything could 'bully' Galmar Stone-Fist. The way Ralof told him the story of how Galmar had once bear-wrestled a Frost Troll swam into his thoughts comically.

"It would make sense I suppose. From his perspective at least."

"How about from your perspective?"

Sihtric nearly choked on his wine, startled that the Jarl wanted his opinion on the matter. Uncrowned though he was, to Sihtric Ulfric was his king, and when he sat with him titles like 'Harbinger' and 'Dragonborn' almost fell away. He was just a soldier, and this was his general.

"Jarl Ulfric, I'm not sure it's my place to-" Sihtric began, before Ulfric swiftly cut him off.

"It's your place if I tell you it is." Ulfric ordered coldly. "This city may well be in enemy hands if it weren't for you, and the streets would undoubtedly be flooded with the blood of innocents. Not to mention, this is your city – not mine. You know the people – their hearts and their minds more than I ever could. So speak your mind."

Sihtric exhaled, furrowing his auburn brow. "It would be a mistake to install Vignar as Jarl."

"Oh? And why would that be?"

"Vignar may still carry a sword, but its been years since he used it. Whiterun hold faces enemies on all sides, the Imperials, the Dragons – and we shouldn't forget the vampires either. In peacetime Vignar may have been a fine ruler, but now? Now we need someone who knows the enemy. Worse, Vignar is the head of one of two great houses in Whiterun. A lot of the other citizens fall into camps – 'Gray-Mane' or 'Battle-Born', by installing one of the heads of the factions as jarl, we've sown the seeds of our downfall. Any chance of true unity falls apart with Vignar's accession."

Ulfric's expression was impenetrable. "A head for politics too it seems. A rare talent. So Sihtric, who should rule in Whiterun?"

"Someone respected by all in the city – loyal to you but not part of any faction." Sihtric mulled over Ulfric's advice from earlier. "And someone who sees power as a burden. Not as a gift perhaps."

Ulfric smirked mischievously, pride in his eyes. "Glad to see you've been listening dragonborn. There's hope for you yet."

With that, Ulfric clapped Sihtric on the shoulder, before walking to the door. "Join us at the palace on the morrow. The Companions, having joined our ranks as shield-brothers should be represented at tomorrow's meetings. Goodnight my friend."

"Sleep well, Jarl Ulfric." Sihtric reached for the desk and closed Kodlak's journal. He shook his head in amusement at Ulfric's wiliness. _Always testing me_ , Sihtric thought to himself.

* * *

 _Jon adjusted his fine collar, before assuring his trusty lute was still secure on his back. He felt the warmth of summer sun massaging his brow, and a light breeze brushing past him, ferrying green leaves across the city. As he climbed the immaculate stone steps, the double doors to the temple of Mara opened before him, and he was bathed in its golden candle-light. As Jon stepped inside the chapel, he was moved to see his entire family, his clan gathered on the left-hand pews. Even more so by the appearance of the Gray-Manes assembled on the right. He saw Olfrid Battle-Born and Vignar Gray-Mane bantering good naturedly across the aisle, as Jon stood by the door, waiting to be called._

 _Then Jon saw her. Clad all in white and masked in a veil of elegant lace, she stepped into view before the altar. Her gown glowed, as if she was the source of all radiance in the room and the candles merely a reflection. He exhaled slowly, and she stole the breath._

 _Olfina, Jon thought as he approached, his legs feeling heavy, almost numb. Jon felt a warmth, a peace he had known only in memory for so long._

" _We gather here today, under Mara's loving gaze, to bear witness to the union of two souls in eternal companionship._ _May they journey forth together in this life and the next, in prosperity and poverty, and in joy and hardship. Do you agree to be bound together, in love, now and forever?"_

" _I do," Jon said, tears forming in his eyes and reaching for Olfina's veil. "Now and forever."_

" _Do you agree to be bound together, in love, now and forever?"_

 _Aelfwynn grinned as her face was revealed, the shade of her skin and hair blending perfectly with the gown, broken only by her crimson-painted eyes._

" _I do. Now and forever" she answered, pulling Jon into a passionate kiss._

 _After surrendering to her embrace for one conflicted moment, Jon pulled away in shocked horror, only to see water beginning to flood from between Aelfwynn's lips. The congregation raised their voices in delighted cheers, and the walls reverberated with hammering applause, in time with the rhythm of Jon's pounding heart._

Jon awoke screaming.

He stumbled unsteadily from the chamber, too focused on his own emotions to note that he had woken several of his comrades, who now rolled over in their camp beds grumbling half-formed night thoughts. Passing the immense pillars which marked the divide between man-made fort and naturally-carved cavern, Jon passed the straw and wooden mannequins and the gently snoring dogs in their cosy pens, following the narrow corridor which delved deeper into the core of the mountains.

The dark tunnel opened up into a small, circular chamber, shrouded in natural darkness. Jon could still hear the rush of the dead drop falls striking the eroded stone boulders, before plunging further into unseen depths. Often before, when he craved solitude Jon had stood in this chamber, watching the water fall and imagining the subterranean kingdoms below. Jon took a moment to light the scattered torches the Dawnguard had ensconced around the smooth cave walls.

Stripping off the armour he hadn't even removed before sleep enveloped him the night before, Jon stood below the gush of water, letting the frigid force strike his bare form.

Jon began to reflect. When he stormed out of the gates of Whiterun that day, he hadn't even stopped to pick up his lute. Every time he dreamed of that day, he remembered every detail so clearly, and yet every time he tried to make himself turn around, to look back at the home he loved, the dream would end.

Jon remembered how he used to tell Olfina that the problem with Skyrim was that everyone was obsessed with death, and yet that is exactly how he had now fallen. Jon had let his unhealthy feelings for one vampire tear his entire life apart. He used to dream of his father permitting him to enrol himself at the Bard's College, to learn forgotten knowledge from ancient songs, to inspire his own compositions. He wanted to put to parchment how Olfina made his heart sing, he wanted to train his lute to convey the pride and melancholy of heroic life. He wanted to bring lays of life to a land drowning in death.

Had Aelfwynn been right? He knew he should pay her words to him on the boat no heed. Vampires were natural liars as he knew well, and yet… he couldn't deny how she had made him feel when they first met. At the time he felt as though Olfina had become his world, and yet in the priestess' rose eyes it was as if he saw another. And she had helped them, that was no ambush at the docks, there were no traps or clear deceptions. Sorine had certainly uncovered no foul surprises when analysing the goblet, though she confirmed its unholy power. Had it all been a trick – a deception, or had he been blind all along? And could he have committed an evil, unforgiveable act to one deep down he was now struggling to deny he may have loved? Had he murdered one he loved?

"Talos, guide me" Jon begged, a plea to end his torment.

Eventually, his body and soul re-armoured to face the day, Jon emerged from the cave, and went in search of breakfast. Joining his comrades as they sated their morning hunger and thirst, he was surprised to see Isran emerging from the shadow of a nearby pillar. His face, as usual – spoke only of focus and a sense of permanent dissatisfaction. If only in his case as a perceived guard against complacency.

Celann raised a mug with a joyous guffaw. "I never thought I'd see the day… fraternising with the grunts eh Isran?"

"Hmph." Isran responded with a low growl. "Battle-born. Need to speak with you."

Isran was never much for unnecessary pleasantries. Jon rose from the bench and followed Isran into Sorine and Gunmar's workshop. The former seemed miles away as she scoured complicated diagrams she had liberated from forgotten ruins across Skyrim, and perhaps Tamriel as a whole. Gunmar was at his forge, his muscled form sweating as he forced troll-sized cuirasses into shape, sending sparks flying.

"Thought you'd want to know, we've heard news from Whiterun."

"Is that so?" Jon replied, unsure of what Isran meant.

"Yeah. Stormcloaks stormed the walls some time within the last week. The city fell Battle-Born. Sorry to be blunt, but there it is."

Jon felt as though the wind had been kicked from him, transferring all his effort to keep breathing. 'How' was the only word he uttered, as his dreams of returning to his perfect home crumbled away.

"As far as we know, there was some sort of coup. Durak says there's a lot of speculation about exactly what happened. Some say the stormcloaks dug under the walls. Others claim the Companions turned on the city at the last moment. Don't know for sure."

Jon's face took on an aspect of complete resolve. "Isran, I have to go."

"Thought you might. I'm not going to remind you of your duty boy, but unlike me you have more than one. Go. See your family. You're no good to me distracted. If you see any vampires, I trust you know what to do."


	30. Chapter 30: Blood on the Ice

Chapter 30: Blood on the Ice

The snowstorm swirled viciously around Aelfwynn and Serana as they approached the long, bleak causeway which separated them from the city of kings. The winds struck violently from every direction, causing the two vampires to have to shout at the top of their lungs for any trace of their voices to carry the mere inches between them.

Aelfwynn was gladdened that they were even able to find the city at all. Even with her vampiric vision, she could barely see more than ten feet in front of her. It was as if all of Eastmarch were trapped inside a single turbulent cloud. Though dawn had broken hours ago, the foul weather had the unlikely benefit of allowing Aelfwynn to continue travelling under the obscure sun, although she had been forced to cover any exposed skin in concession to its muted tyranny. She turned to see Serana's lips moving, though she had no idea what she was saying.

"PARDON?" Aelfwynn almost screamed into the gale.

"I SAID," Serana shouted back, "THIS MUST BE THAT DELIGHTFUL SKYRIM WEATHER I'VE ALWAYS HEARD ABOUT!"

Aelfwynn rolled her eyes, though she found little to disagree with in Serana's assessment. As they stepped into the shelter of the enormous corridor, the mighty walls of Windhelm rolled threateningly out of the mist. The heads of three malevolent looking birds were carved above the main gates, though Aelfwynn was unsure of which species – if any – they were meant to portray. The narrow, cobbled road lay perfectly straight before them, broken up only by snowdrifts and the frail, willowy grasses which squeezed themselves between the wall and the worn ground-stones.

Taking a moment to ruffle the snow from her robes, Aelfwynn turned to face Serana. "Can't we carry on? I'd really rather not get caught up in the city."

Serana raised an eyebrow. "You'd rather try and wade through that?" She asked pointedly, pointing a finger towards the angry sky. "Aelfwynn, even if it cleared, you'd start smouldering, and I don't like the idea of burying you in a snowdrift until nightfall…"

Aelfwynn sighed. "You're right. Come on then, I know a place."

The great gates groaned as they opened sluggishly, and a city going about its bustling business was revealed. Scraggly-bearded men carried crates up from the dockyards whilst beggars gathered around braziers for warmth, whilst all the while a small, smiling girl offered flowers to passers-by. Aelfwynn approached the girl, half-kneeling as she dropped a coin into her basket. The girl grinned infectiously beneath her thick fur hood, and reached out to pin a single red mountain-flower to her brown cloth robe.

Serana seemed to lose her companion for a moment, darting her head amongst the figures all around her. When she finally caught sight of Aelfwynn, a curious little smile brushed across her lips, as if forgetting herself for a moment before resuming her usual detachment.

* * *

Candlehearth hall was cold. Aelfwynn had found that almost everywhere in Windhelm suffered from it, something in the stark stones which just failed to keep in the heat. At least now as a vampire it took the bite out of it. Aelfwynn passed a few coins to the weary looking innkeeper, before she led the way to a vacant room.

"It's yours for the night. Keep it clean" she droned in a thin, withered voice.

Aelfwynn turned to thank the woman out of courtesy, but found she had already vanished around the corner. Taking a moment to examine her new surroundings, Aelfwynn felt a pang of nostalgia for the relative spacious luxury of the Bannered Mare. Put at its mildest, in contrast this room was erratically furnished. On the right-hand side, a dresser and bookshelf competed over one corner, further cramped by an enormous wardrobe. What was stranger still is that the bookshelf had no books on it – at all. Aelfwynn was confused further by the single clothes iron which appeared to be sat on one of the lower shelves.

Aelfwynn thought to herself that perhaps books hadn't really caught on in Windhelm – or more likely, those that used to sit on these shelves had been borrowed rather permanently by enterprising guests.

"Aelfwynn…" Serana asked, her voice slightly bemused.

"Yes?" Aelfwynn replied, her voice far away.

"Where are you expecting me to sleep? I mean you have your moments, but I really don't feel like huddling for warmth with you…"

Aelfwynn clapped a hand to her temple. "Oh, well don't worry about it. I'll take the…" she looked rapidly around the room. "the dresser?"

Serana looked singularly unimpressed. Aelfwynn began to hunt through her satchel, before ruefully counting her dwindling number of septims.

"I'll umm… just go and book another room."

* * *

Aelfwynn made sure to close the door to her room as silently as possible, casting a half-guilty glance towards Serana's door before gliding ghost-like across the inn hallway. She was grateful that the sunset had summoned the evening tide of revellers to the tavern hall above, whose boisterous banter cushioned any sound she might have made. A grateful breath of air rushed in as she released the wooden door, and Aelfwynn vanished into the night.

The central street of Windhelm was lit by iron braziers placed along its centre, trying in vain to keep the encroaching ice at bay. Aelfwynn saw a poor beggar woman crouched by one of the fires, her arms clasped to her breast. She felt a wave of sympathy for the woman, and walking over placed one of her last three septims next to her, before moving further Eastwards into the city.

It didn't take her long to lose herself in amongst those shadowed side-streets, following an all-too familiar path. Windhelm was a city which stood apart to Aelfwynn. Whilst Whiterun stood open to the sky and Riften to the air, Windhelm was anything but. It wore its ancient age with foreign foreboding, and wrapped its secrets in labyrinthian corridors of walls and houses. Aelfwynn remembered learning that Windhelm was the most ancient of Skyrim's surviving cities – and it certainly seemed as if the Nords intended to make a permanent statement onto the land. They were here to stay.

Aelfwynn paused for a moment as she found the particular alley. It was much as she remembered it, though Icicles now hung either side from overcast rooves like translucent fangs, and gathering pools of mushy snow clung to the almost entirely black cobbles of the road. Aelfwynn followed the alley for a short while, before dropping to one knee and running a single finger through the undisturbed frost.

"This wasn't the end," Aelfwynn whispered to herself, her resolve from the Riften Temple finally returning. "I can be her again."

Aelfwynn heard someone cough pointedly behind her, clearing their throat. For a moment she was almost certain it would be Morcar, but no. Instead, Serana stood boldly between Aelfwynn and the entrance to the alleyway. She stood with her arms folded neatly in front of her, whilst her slightly cocked head showed a small half-smile. In totality, her posture belied a sense of amused suspicion.

"Who are you talking to?" Serana asked, as she glanced around the deserted street.

Aelfwynn took a moment to regain her composure. "Why did you follow me?" She asked breathlessly.

"Because it was so obvious you didn't want to be followed! Trust me, growing up in the castle makes you an expert at this sort of thing. Centuries with nothing to do except read and walk around…"

Serana took a moment to approach, stopping directly in front of Aelfwynn. "So, what is this place to…"

Serana was suddenly cut off by a blood-curdling scream, causing both the vampires' heads to snap westwards. Aelfwynn immediately dashed towards the source, not caring for a moment whether Serana tailed her or not. But within a few moments, her dark-haired companion matched her sprint, taking the opportunity to continue speaking.

"What is it I told you? About running headlong towards danger?"

Aelfwynn snapped back at her immediately. "Someone's in trouble Serana. The rest doesn't matter!"

"It does if they blame us…" Serana finished, determined to get the last word.

Charging past Candlehearth hall and with it the centre of the city, Aelfwynn and Serana descended a steep flight of stone stairs, before coming to an abrupt halt.

The victim lay strewn over the pale stone slab, her arms and legs straying over the sides at frantic angles. She was a young Nord woman, almost remarkably tall, with her blonde hair kept neatly about her shoulders. Her features may well have once been comely, but no longer. Her face was contorted violently into an expression of utter horror, and agony was carved into her flesh. Great pockets of flesh and entrails had been brutally mined from her, causing the disturbing paradox of disgust at the monstrousness of the act and delight at the blood running freely, steaming and singing to her hunger in the cold night air.

It had taken days to calm her mind after being forced to drink from Sihtric fighting the Dragon. But now - thanks to Serana - it coursed through her veins once more, amplifying both the temptation and predatory instinct. Aelfwynn instinctually reached for her amulet for strength, letting her fingers hover above the blue gem at its centre as her fangs nibbled ravenously on her lower lip.

Four figures stood around the devastated body, their heads cast downwards. Two of them, a beggar wrapped in thin, ruined cloth and a well dressed older man seemed to both convey an apparent sense of shock and sadness. The third was a guard, whose face sat concealed behind the customary closed helmet, holding a torch almost protectively in front of him. The final figure was an old priestess, the amulet of Arkay hanging from her robed front. Her expression seemed entirely emotionless as she began to arrange the dead young woman in some semblance of dignity.

The guard quickly span around, placing a hand on his scabbard threateningly. "Hold it there! Keep your distance!"

Aelfwynn held up her hands in reassurance, even as her eyes winced from the proximity of the spitting torch-light. "We're not a threat, I promise you. We just heard a scream and came running. What happened here?"

The guard seemed to relax slightly, adjusting his posture to a more neutral position before holding out his arm towards the body. "See for yourself. Another girl killed, this time Susanna from Candlehearth Hall. She served me a drink a few nights ago, but I can't say I knew her."

Aelfwynn's brow furrowed. "Another? This has happened before?"

"Susanna's the third. Always the same, young girl killed at night, the body all torn up."

Serana decided to chip in with customary cynicism. "Sounds like the guards aren't doing their jobs if you ask me…"

The guard's knuckles tightened on his torch. "Look, there's a war going on, if you hadn't noticed. Ain't enough guards to patrol the streets, let alone every dark corner."

Aelfwynn tried to rescue the line of inquiry. "Well, could you use some help?"

The guard looked thoughtful for a moment. Well, as thoughtful as a man with a completely concealed face could manage under the circumstances.

"Well, for a start you could ask some of these gawkers if they saw anything while I see if I can find a trail."

"We'll get on it" Aelfwynn assured as the guard stalked off down the street.

She looked over to Serana, whose scepticism dissolved into a look of resignation. "I'm not going to be able to talk you out of getting involved am I?"

"No. You aren't." Aeflwynn agreed smugly.

Aelfwynn approached the first witness, the elder man. His black hair and beard was generously interspersed with sprinklings of white, and the lines on his face spoke of his years like those of an oak. His expression seemed appropriately shocked to Aelfwynn, yet his eyes seemed unusually empty.

"Always sad when someone has to die" he said as she reached him.

"Did you… did you see anything?" Aelfwynn asked.

"Sorry, I thought I saw some fellow running away, but I didn't get a good look at him."

She turned to the beggar-woman beside him, who stood rubbing her dirt-stained hands together nervously. "How about you?"

The beggar's eyes went wide. "I heard a scream and came running, but when I got here she… she was like this."

Finally, bending down on the opposite side of the body, she repeated the question to the old priestess.

"Ehhh… No. Sorry. But her coin purse is still full, so whoever it was wasn't after her gold. Best I get ready to prepare the body."

Aelfwynn cast an eye over the nearby entrance to the hall of the dead, conveniently nestled under the temple a few metres away.

"Could you use a hand to… to move the body?"

The priestess nodded gratefully, before moving to take an arm. Aelfwynn gave Serana a stern look as she moved to assist. Serana returned the stare, but after a moment moved to take the legs without further complaint. As they approached the unassuming entrance, the guard returned, stiffly marching towards them. The three bearers halted.

"We've spoken to the witnesses," Aelfwynn began. "But I'm afraid there's… well there's nothing conclusive."

A frustrated sigh broke through the expressionless helm. "Damn. Like always, no one sees anything" the guard growled.

"This could use further investigation, don't you think?"

The guard chortled mirthlessly. "If you think you can do better than the legion of guards, best go see the steward. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to try and keep whatever passes for order on these streets."

* * *

After awkwardly descending the cramped flight of stairs behind the thick outer door, the three women laid Susanna down on the mortuary slab, and Helgird – the aged priestess, swiftly set about her work preparing the cadaver.

To Aelfwynn, the Windhelm hall of the dead was distinct from many of its counterparts amongst the other holds. In architecture it mirrored any of the ancient Nordic ruins which dotted Skyrim's landscape rather than any contemporary construction. Aelfwynn found herself slightly unnerved at the idea that perhaps there was an entire city hidden and unexplored beneath Windhelm, crawling with draugr and worse, dreaming dark dreams of the surface, unleashing the hatred formed from an eternity of rotting torment.

Of course, that wasn't the only reason. She walked down the claustrophobic tunnel, the dust from the rarely tread cobbles forming small misty clouds around her feet, until she reached the familiar raised slab. Aelfwynn softly dragged a hand across its smooth surface, daring herself to relive those old memories.

"You've got that 'alley look' again…" Serana stated, moving to lean against the slab. "First you try and avoid this place at all costs, and now you seem… I don't know, lost in it. What's the story?"

"I was born here. Sorry – reborn I guess you'd say. He took me in that alley… and this is where I woke up."

"What was it like?" Serana asked in thoughtless curiosity.

"Dying?!" Aelfwynn replied incredulously.

"Oh. Sorry, that may have come across kind of insensitive, huh? It's just… it's been so long since I was human. I've almost forgotten what it was like, the change."

Aelfwynn let the floodgates break in her mind. "I opened my eyes, and I saw everything differently. I could see the tiniest cracks in the stone ceiling above me, and the smallest spider which spun its web in the corners. There was… so much colour and shade I could never have conceived before. But it was more than just visual. My whole life was set in an entirely new light… Everything I'd been, believed in before seemed wrong."

Serana looked perplexed. "How do you mean?"

"It's… complicated. Probably best we focus on the task at hand for now, okay?"

Serana burst into a fit of quiet laughter.

Aelfwynn looked at her uncomprehendingly for a moment.

Serana wiped her eye. "So that's how that feels…" she answered. After a second's thought, Aelfwynn recalled what she was referring to. That was exactly how Serana deflected her and Frieda's questioning when they first freed her.

"Well… you never did give me a proper explanation either you know."

"Hmph," Serana retorted. "We get through this little 'murder mystery' of yours without getting blamed for it, maybe we can fill each other in."

"It's a deal" Aelfwynn stated firmly.

Serana pulled herself up onto the slab into a comfortable sitting position, before running a hand through her raven hair thoughtfully. "So, we have three witnesses, all of which told us exactly… nothing. Good start there."

Aelfwynn smiled a little half-smirk. "Actually, I think it's told us more than you think."

Aelfwynn quickly crossed to Helgird's examination table, beckoning Serana to follow. She pointed to these wounds. "Serana, what would you say our murderer was trying to do here?"

Serana shrugged for a moment, before reluctantly peering at Susanna's wounds. The cavities were deep, fleshy pockets. Gazing over the poor girl's chest, an enormous gash on the right side of her chest suggested a horrific possibility.

"Eugh… it's like, like they wanted to tear pieces out of her." Serana concluded.

"Exactly," Aelfwynn agreed. "But you remember what the beggar girl said."

Serana thought about it for a moment. "She said she heard a scream and came running, like we did."

Aelfwynn nodded. "But we were quite a lot further away."

"How could you possibly know that?"

"Because when I snuck out of… well when I left the inn, I saw her huddling under the brazier not fifty feet away from where we found the body. Do you honestly think that a murderer could attack Susanna, causing her to scream, successfully extract her flesh and maybe her organs, and get away without leaving a trail before the beggar got there?"

Serana furrowed her brow. "No… that doesn't make sense actually. But somehow, I don't think she's the one who did it."

"No. But she may know more than she's saying."

"Okay then investigator," Serana began, her voice taking on a tone of grudging respect, "what about the others?" Serana looked over at Helgird, who appeared to be preparing a mixture of some sort on a nearby alchemy table, before starting to whisper softly. "She didn't seem too bothered about the death, and the fact that it happened outside the hall of the dead? Seems like a lot of coincidence…"

"Or she's just been dealing with death all her life."

"Mmm. Fair point. So, the killer could still be anyone in the city…" Serana raised her arms for a moment in resignation.

"I don't think so. There was something about that other man. Something in the way he said 'it's always sad when someone has to die'. Serana, this kind of killing… it's sadism. The killer didn't just kill her, they made a spectacle of it. That kind of killer? Well, they like to watch."

Serana crossed her arms. "Watch? Watch what?"

"What it does to people. The little tendrils of terror slowly spreading on the faces and in the voices of everyone who sees it, and knowing that they'll go back to their families and spread it further. To breathe it all in yet remain completely invisible. How can you appreciate the art if you don't look at it unfold?"

"Aelfwynn…" Serana said in a slightly disturbed voice. "How do you know all this?"

Aelfwynn looked at the ground for a moment, before meeting Serana's golden gaze.

"Because it's exactly what I used to do."


	31. Chapter 31: The Council

Chapter 31: The Council

Sihtric adjusted his wolf armour one last time as he stood before the mighty doors of Dragonsreach palace. He was well aware that wearing armour was most likely entirely unnecessary. Such councils rarely decayed into open brawling - even in Skyrim - yet Sihtric felt that as he had been selected to represent the Companions of Ysgramor, he ought to look the part.

The palace servants appeared to have returned to their normal duties. Two women stood piling great logs and branches onto the spitting hearth, which bathed the great hall in much needed warmth. Others seemed to be pouring ale and wine into waiting goblets and tankards along the two long tables. Sihtric immediately recognised the earthy tones of Galmar Stone-Fist, who perched on the end of the right-hand table, deep in conversation with his fellow general Thorygg Sun-Killer.

Sihtric was grateful to see Ralof sat on the end furthest from him, and quickly crossed the distance to join his old friend.

"Ralof, you dog!" Sihtric laughed warmly, clasping Ralof's arm in his own. "Didn't expect to see you here!"

Ralof crossed his arms to match an expression of faux-smugness. "Way I see it, someone's got to pass word to the men of what's decided here. And of course, there's the matter of my newest promotion…"

Sihtric smacked Ralof on the back warmly. "Congratulations old friend! In all Skyrim I can think of no one who deserves it more. Don't know if I would have made it through that last battle without you."

A shadow passed across Ralof's face then, threatening to steal any trace of a smile. "Tell me Sihtric, do… do colours still seem brighter somehow? Sounds sharper, since the battle. Don't get me wrong, we've fought battles before, you and I, but this…"

"It was different." Sihtric finished.

"Aye. It was. You know, they say it gets easier, killing. I'm not sure that's a good thing."

Sihtric put a hand on Ralof's shoulder. "Only a beast kills without feeling. It's good we feel the weight of the fallen. It reminds us of what's at stake. Of the high price we've already paid to come this far."

Ralof chuckled softly under his breath. "You're starting to sound like Jarl Ulfric…"

Sihtric grinned. "I can think of no higher praise." He began to make a show of looking for a chair next to his friend.

"Afraid you're over there friend. Since you're representing the companions and all. Wouldn't be proper to have you here this time."

Sihtric creased his brow. "Doesn't the jarl think that may make this whole thing seem like the conqueror addressing the conquered?"

Ralof shrugged. "Not my place to decide such things Sihtric. The jarl wants to show the people of Whiterun that they're represented by their own, and that they'll still be ruled by their own I suppose."

Sihtric looked thoughtful. "Not a bad plan I suppose. But since most people aren't here, I'm sure rumours will start to spread…"

Ralof's smile widened, as he cast his eyes upwards suggestively. Sihtric followed his gaze. To his alarm, the upper gallery he could see was filled with city-folk. Young and old, men and women from all walks of life. Their faces spoke of anxious uncertainty.

"Jarl Ulfric's idea? Well… it might work I suppose," Sihtric admitted.

"Actually, I think it might have been my suggestion." Ralof lowered his head modestly. "Even a simple man can have a good idea once in a while it seems."

Sihtric clasped his friend's arm once more, before crossing the great hall. He was now extremely conscious of the eyes that bore down on him from above, watching every action he made, every step he took.

As he approached the opposite table, he saw Olfrid Battle-Born sitting solemnly at the end closest to where the throne once stood. His expression was stolid, though the black bags hanging under his worn eyes betrayed that he had not slept well. He refused to meet Sihtric's gaze as he walked around the table. The dragonborn could hardly blame him under the circumstances.

As on the Windhelm table, there were five seats spread out along the table, enough space for two men at least between each. Adjacent to the patriarch of clan Battle-Born sat Proventus Avenicci. Unlike his neighbour, he seemed more nervous than defiant, as he twiddled his fingers apprehensively. At the table's centre, sat Vignar Gray-Mane. He held himself as though he had already been crowned, dressed in fine robes and topped off with an elaborate amulet about his neck. He was clearly trying to express a sense of pious nobility on his face to any who looked upon him. As Sihtric took the empty seat between him and the former Jarl's brother Hrongar, who perched furiously on the final seat, he exchanged a nod and a smile with Vignar. Vignar returned it, whilst holding up a hand as if in benediction. Sihtric tried not to think about how the old man might react if Ulfric planned to take his advice from the night before.

A single sonorous note echoed through the rafters, as a bear-skinned warrior standing below the skull of Numinex blew a great horn of bone. Six stormcloak soldiers marched down the rear staircase in two rows of three. Behind them, Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak followed.

All rose to their feet. Whether they approved of the man who bore the title, respect for the title of Jarl was almost instinctive amongst the Nords, and the others soon followed to join the herd. Vignar Gray-Mane partially deflated in an instant. As Sihtric looked on, he knew in his heart that here was a man who truly had the bearing of a King. In his mind, Ulfric had a sense of presence that demanded one's attention, and once the fires of passion emerged in his voice all but the tone-deaf were enthralled.

The two columns of guards split off after they descended the shallow steps before the throne, taking up positions beside each far wall respectively, leaving Jarl Ulfric standing alone. Ulfric held out his hand invitingly.

"Please, do be seated."

Then, rather modestly in comparison to the grandeur of the ceremony which had come just before, Ulfric crossed the floor to his table, and stood in front of the centre seat. He cast his eyes upwards, slowly moving from left to right amongst the gathered throng in the galleries. Then he began to speak.

"We have much to discuss this day. People of Whiterun, I apologise for the delay in bringing this council forth, but know that such was borne out of necessity. We have done all we can to calm this turbulent period of change, but now that fires no longer threaten your homes, and hunger your lives, it is time to discuss your future. I am fully aware that such a momentous decision is not mine alone to make. Across from me sit five representatives of your fair city, to ensure you all that your governance is not arbitrarily decided by some monstrous invader. I invite all of you at the table opposite to speak your minds, and help us work together for the benefit of all. Finally, before the discussions officially begin, I will now confirm that the worship of Talos is once again free to be practiced through Whiterun and its hold. Let no man, elf or beast say otherwise. Thank you."

Many applauded. Others did not. Some did so enthusiastically, the fire of Ulfric's words reflecting in their hopeful eyes, whilst others did so fearfully, as if not wanting to be seen doing otherwise.

Hrongar immediately leapt to his feet. "Ulfric Stormcloak! I demand the release of my brother. The treatment of a jarl of Whiterun…"

"Former Jarl…" Vignar sneered under his breath.

Hrongar carried on unshaken "the treatment of a jarl in such a fashion is without honour or justice. Especially when his imprisonment is born out of any…" Hrongar glanced accusingly at both Sihtric and Ulfric "…any personal vendettas."

Galmar looked as though he was about to hurl himself across the tables towards the speaker, however Ulfric held out an arm placatingly.

"Steady Galmar. His request is not unreasonable. Let the first matter of discussion be that of the former Jarl's future."

Olfrid Battle-Born raised his goblet, to which Ulfric nodded.

"Friend Hrongar is right", he wheezed. "Jarl Balgruuf has served Whiterun faithfully and with great distinction for many years. His imprisonment is a disgrace, and speaks volumes about the barbarity of those who brought him low…"

Sihtric felt rage bubbling to the surface, unleashed as he brought his fist down hard on to the unoffending wood of the table. The room went silent for a moment as all eyes turned. Sihtric, having recovered a part of his senses with a long exhale, looked to Jarl Ulfric for approval. The jarl nodded once more. The dragonborn rose to his feet, the creaking planks below him seeming cacophonous in the tense silence.

"The only disgrace… is that which Balgruuf brought on himself" Sihtric drawled tightly, his voice still coloured with lingering frustration. "The jarl challenged me in the old way. A fight to the death. A challenge which I honoured, which I granted him even after the battle was surely lost. And how did the Jarl behave? He surrendered. He dishonoured himself and every one of you. He thought he could win, and when the fight turned against him, he cowered, rather than facing his death like any true Nord! It is out of his dishonour that this entire discussion has emerged, so I suggest the council consider their words more carefully before accusing their political rivals of barbarism."

Hrongar seemed somewhat quelled by this, however Olfrid merely scoffed at Sihtric's words. "A lecture on honour? From the man who betrayed his city and let the enemy inside the walls? From the man who killed my son in cold blood?!"

Vignar piped up. "It was war Battle-Born! Perhaps now you too have lost a son to it, you can understand its gravity…"

"ORDER!" Ulfric bellowed. "This discussion is threatening to collapse into petty bickering and personal insults. Let our discussion focus on agreeing what is to be done regarding Balgruuf and his family. As for the accusations levelled at the Dragonborn, I have to point out to you all that no man should be shamed for doing what he thought was right, and it probably saved more lives than any other action could have done. Many of you owe him greatly."

A cloud of whispers diffused through the crowd above as the jarl finished.

Proventus Avenicci coughed softly, before tentatively raising his arm.

"The council recognises the former steward." Ulfric acknowledged.

"My Jarl, if I may suggest, why do you not exile Jarl… former Jarl Balgruuf and his household to Solitude?" The former steward spread his hands. "It may even work in your favour, perhaps disprove the image of the merciless rebels the empire is determined to mark you with…"

"A fair suggestion. Before we put it to a vote, does anyone have anything further to add?"

The opposing table shook their heads. "A simple majority between the five of you will decide whether the proposal is accepted. Who votes in favour?"

Proventus raised his arm, and Olfrid shortly followed. Hrongar seemed torn for a moment, but raised his arm all the same. Vignar leaned over to Sihtric as he raised his own. "Gone or dead, it's all the same to me. He's out of the way."

Sihtric alone did not raise his arm. Ulfric accepted the verdict, before querying the abstaining dragonborn. "Harbinger, apart from you we seem unanimous. For the sake of unity, I urge you to put forward your objections."

Sihtric clenched his fist. "It doesn't seem right. Balgruuf could have easily avoided this battle entirely, yet he did not even give Jarl Ulfric a chance to talk things over. Then in the final moments of the battle he dishonours himself in the face of all our customs. How is it justice to see him walk free?"

Galmar spoke up. "And his shame will follow him wherever he goes. There's only two ways out of a prison, the key or the sword, and I don't know about you boy, but I see no benefit to displaying his head from the ramparts…"

After a moment of conflict, Sihtric too raised his arm in agreement with the verdict.

Ulfric brought his fist down on the table three times. "Then it is decided. Tomorrow at dawn the jarl and his household will be free to set off for Solitude, along the North road. Which leads us neatly on to the next matter of business. Who should join him? His family without question, but what of his advisors?"

Thorygg crossed his arms as he turned to face Ulfric. "Surely they cannot consider letting an Imperial remain in the post? His loyalty would always be held in question…"

Proventus' face began to take on a pale aspect, his lips quivering sporadically. It was quite remarkable to witness the change in the man over the past few days. In the past his place in the court was assured, he had the Jarl's trust and his confidence, and he wore his office like a cloak of pompous self-importance. Now all that had been stripped away, and he was just a man treading water in his own uncertainty. Sihtric felt more sorry for him than anything else.

He raised his arm once more.

"I would not be so swift to dismiss Proventus commander. Whilst he should certainly be kept an eye on, surely no man has a better grasp on the complexities of managing the every-day details of running the hold? To dismiss him blindly, well… it could cause a great deal of trouble for the new government."

A series of nods and murmurs travelled along both tables. Proventus' eyes widened in surprise, his small smile grateful. The vote, once again was unanimous, that Proventus should remain in his position for the time being.

The council continued relatively smoothly for another hour. The matters discussed were all of varying degrees of vitality and importance, such as the decision to allow the Whiterun guards to have the opportunity to resign or continue under the new regime. Another compromise allowed them to elect their own leader, whilst commander Caius would depart with Balgruuf the following day. Caius himself looked solemn as he and Irileth, who herself had been brought from a cell, silently accepted the decision. However, all these debates, all this progress fell in the shadow of one overarching issue which had been left until last. The question of who would lead Whiterun during this tumultuous period, through war and revolution. The question of who would become Jarl.

After another three strikes with his fist, Ulfric addressed the gathering once more. "Now we must address the final, and most important of matters. Who is to lead Whiterun into its future? Who best can represent its people, and the cause which it has now committed itself - to free Skyrim from her oppressors?"

A hand rose from the centre of the opposite table.

Ulfric gave way. "The floor is yours Vignar Gray-Mane."

Vignar slowly rose to his feet, casting his eyes over the great hall. "House Gray-Mane has stood for centuries as one of Whiterun's noblest families. Unswerving in its loyalty to Whiterun, and even more relevant to Skyrim as a whole…" He took the opportunity to cast a scolding eye towards Olfrid. "I know Whiterun as well as any man living, and my support for Skyrim's independence is obvious. No-one is better suited to take up the mantle of Jarl."

Ulfric nodded. "Your words have merit Vignar Gray-Mane. And none could doubt your dedication to our cause."

Vignar smiled broadly at that, sitting and leaning back in his chair as if his accession was now assured. Sihtric noticed Olfrid Battle-Born rolling his eyes, seemingly having reached the same conclusion.

"But," Ulfric continued. "There is more to consider here. I am well aware of Whiterun's divisions Vignar. This war has split the city in two, and those groups have rallied around the clans of Gray-Mane and Battle-Born. I cannot help but consider old friend, what if you were handed Whiterun hold only for half of its people to rise up against you?"

Vignar sat in stunned silence for a moment, and Sihtric could not help but look away. Vignar had expected no obstacles, and there was no joy in watching a man's illusions shatter before his very eyes.

A low chuckle came from the other end of the table. "I must salute you Jarl Ulfric," Olfrid Battle-Born began, clapping his hands warmly. "I did not know you were capable of such wisdom to realise Vignar shouldn't be let anywhere near the throne…"

Ulfric smiled, crossing his arms. "Yet one could say the same of you Olfrid Battle-Born, for much the same reasons."

Olfrid sneered. "I knew that from the start Stormcloak. I'm no fool. And unlike the old goat I wouldn't stab my own city in the back to sit in the ruins of Balgruuf's throne."

"So, whom would you recommend Battle-Born? What would you do in my position? Enlighten us."

Olfrid leaned forward in his chair, and his smouldering eyes narrowed. He spoke slowly, and with a terrible foreboding. "The way I see it, whatever you do it won't last. You'll be forced to install one of your own puppet commanders, or be forced to take Vignar here after all. You'll be forced to declare martial law soon enough of course, or as soon as this mad war of yours crashes down around your ears, the people will rise up. It's only a matter of time. You're all doomed, so I'd start writing to General Tullius, if I were you. You might yet stave off your executions…" Olfrid folded his arms smugly, and spoke no more.

Sihtric looked at his hands for a moment. This is where it could all fall apart. An entire day of delicate discussions could be undermined if they faltered to find a leader to hold it all together. But who else was there? The only one who hovered briefly in Sihtric's mind was Vilkas. He had never told him, but Sihtric had long suspected he could be a fine leader, who walked the line skilfully between pensive intelligence and decisive action. He had long thought it should be Vilkas who should be Harbinger in his place.

"What about him?" Sihtric heard Jarl Ulfric say. "What about the Dragonborn?"

Sihtric froze for a moment, before his head rushed upwards to lock eyes with Ulfric.

Vignar pointed a finger accusingly, all joviality towards his Harbinger having vanished. "Him? A boy? Jarl Ulfric…"

"Yes. Him. In the time since I first arrived in Whiterun I have talked with your people Vignar. I hearkened to their words and heard their fears. Despite all their differences, they all hold that man in higher esteem than anyone in this room. The man who came here to serve, not to gain. And amongst who's first actions was to save this city from a beast out of the nightmares of our ancient past. He barely knew you by all accounts, and yet he risked his life to save you. The old Jarl respected him. The companions raised him to a position of highest esteem. He's the only one we all have in common."

"And he's a damn tough son of a bitch too," Galmar added. "And you'll all need that in the times to come. Imperials aren't the only enemies out there, and what do the rest of you know about killing Dragons and fighting hordes of the undead?"

"I know he'd never ask for this," Ulfric continued, casting Sihtric an apologetic smile. "And that's why I would suggest he's exactly what Whiterun needs. Because there aren't many heroes left in Skyrim."

Suddenly the rafters were filled with the sound of bombastic applause, as the people of Whiterun cast their invisible votes.

Vignar's hands were shaking, and his voice had fallen to little more than an amplified whimper. "Ulfric… the implications of this are enormous. If we allow the Harbinger of the Companions to become jarl of a hold, it breaks thousands of years of our sacred traditions. As you well know, there have been no leaders in the Companions since Ysgramor himself!"

Surprisingly, Ralof spoke up. "Then surely it is fitting, no? Since we're trying to save the Kingdom he built?" Then, as if remembering himself, Ralof sat back in his chair with an unspoken apology.

Instead, Ulfric smilled at him. "How the truest words come from ordinary men. Though Ralof here is far from ordinary."

Olfrid looked as though he were about to explode. His face had turned bright red, and his body vibrated with fury. "You would have me bow and scrape… to the man who killed my first-born son?! To a man of no noble blood whatsoever, from some backwater dungheap?!"

Hrongar jumped to his feet in outrage. "He carries the blood of the dragon in his veins Battle-Born. There is no blood more noble. I may be loyal to my brother, but such disrespect is below you Olfrid."

"Men die in battles," Galmar added. "If we started rounding up everyone who killed anyone else and branded them murderer, Skyrim would run out of soldiers in a day. We're sorry for your loss man, but would you throw away this city's chance for stability because your boy picked the wrong fight?"

Olfrid was silent, though fury's madness clearly held him still.

"I think its time for a vote." Ulfric decided. "Who among you would accept Sihtric, son of Skyrim as Jarl of Whiterun?"

"Hmph" Vignar grumbled. "You want the man to vote for himself?"

"I'll abstain" Sihtric stated, having finally come to terms with what they were proposing. Sihtric couldn't help but be amazed at the faith these people he had come to know had placed in him. "And I will abide by the decision of the majority."

Hrongar raised his hand first. "Whiterun has dark times ahead of it I fear. But I can think of no man who could fight harder for her, at least under the circumstances..."

Proventus' hand shot up, presumably he could see which way the wind was blowing, and fancied he had more chance with Sihtric than Vignar or a Stormcloak commander. Only Vignar and Olfrid remained undecided.

After a terribly long moment of uncertainty, Vignar raised his hand. "Maybe I'm too old to fight this war after all. Somehow I have a feeling that whoever sits on that chair will end up fighting until his dying day. The Dragonborn has my support… for the moment." He turned his head to Sihtric. "Know when to listen to those who've been around longer than you though, hmm?"

Ulfric stood. "People of Whiterun, this council is hereby dissolved. All hail Jarl Sihtric of Whiterun!"

The crowd cheered as Sihtric rose and bowed his head, in acceptance of the duty that had been hung around his neck.

* * *

Balgruuf listened to the regular drip of water hitting the floor of his cell, as he lay on the camp bed his jailors had hastily provided days before. He had some idea of what must have been going on above him, he wasn't an idiot after all. Irileth and Caius had been led up from the dungeons and then returned hours ago, and though they didn't attempt to speak to him afterwards, it was pretty clear both the fate of Whiterun and that of himself had been discussed upstairs. Balgruuf had been strangely calm for the last couple of days. Once he had demanded that he know the whereabouts and state of his children, and they had been allowed to visit him once a day, his worries had faded. He was honestly unsure what Ulfric would do with him. He did not know if his rivalry with the Jarl of Windhelm had inspired such deep loathing as to desire his death, though of course that need not be the only reason. Ulfric had killed the High King to prove a point that Torygg was unfit to rule Skyrim, and Balgruuf's death would send a similar message – well, at least Ulfric would think so.

Suddenly, the former Jarl became aware of the wooden echo of footfalls coming closer. He cleared a fringe of blonde hair from his eyes before rising to his feet. Perhaps this was Ulfric now, coming to gloat in person over his victory. But then, to Balgruuf's astonishment, the dragonborn stood before him, clad in the wolf armour of Jorrvaskr, a red cloak adorned about his shoulders.

"Well boy, I must admit I didn't expect we'd meet again so soon. Are you hear to deliver my sentence?"

Sihtric pursed his lips. "That's a part of it jar- Balgruuf. I also wanted your advice."

Balgruuf laughed heartily. "It's a bit late for that don't you think? Unless you want to break me out and liberate the keep?"

Sihtric smiled in spite of himself. He began to recall why he had once admired this man so highly.

"Not this time I'm afraid. But sure enough, you're to be freed tomorrow. You, your family and household will be allowed to depart for solitude. Caius, Irileth and those guards who don't want to carry on under the new… regime will serve as your escort.

Balgruuf was genuinely surprised. "I'm grateful boy. Do I have you to thank?"

Sihtric shook his head. "It's what we all thought was best. Jarl Ulfric included.

A darkness passed across Balgruuf's face, before he shrugged it off.

"So, what can this deposed jarl do for you now?"

Sihtric took a deep breath. "Well… you see… they've made me the new jarl."

Balgruuf stared at his former friend in astonishment for a moment, before they both burst out laughing, sharing this one moment of absurdity on both sides of the bars.

"So," Sihtric continued, trying to retake control of his diaphragm, "I wanted your advice."

Balgruuf's expression became pensive, as he mulled over his request. "Don't rely solely on yourself. Doesn't matter if we wear the mantle, we're all capable of making mistakes. Listen to those around you, hear the people's fears. And if something feels wrong, that's often because however you justify it, it is."

Sihtric nodded. "Thank you Balgruuf. I'm sorry it turned out this way."

"I'm sorry too. One last thing boy."

Sihtric looked puzzled. "Yes?"

Balgruuf began to pace about his cell slowly. "Say you win this war of yours. Say you storm Castle Dour and sack the Blue Palace. The moot is called, and Ulfric seeks the throne."

"Yes?" Sihtric asked, wondering what Balgruuf was getting at.

"When suddenly his coronation seems a little less certain, when there stands another 'hero' in the running, what do you think he'll do with you?"

Sihtric froze. "You can't be suggesting…"

Balgruuf nodded solemnly. "The man killed his king, started a war and burned our city to get this far. What's the life of a friend against a Kingdom? What's a dragonborn, against the throne?"


	32. Chapter 32: The Mind of a Killer

Chapter 32: The Mind of a Killer

"I don't understand…" Serana began, seemingly caught off-guard by Aelfwynn's admission.

"Helgird?" Aelfwynn addressed the priestess, hoping Serana would drop it. There would be time to explain, once this murderer was brought to the Divines' justice.

"Mmm?" The priestess mumbled, clearly lost in thought.

"Is there anything you've noticed, about the body I mean?" Aelfwynn replied.

The old priestess came away from her alchemical mixtures, leaning over the corpse and looking it over with an expert's eye.

"Only unusual thing is the shape of these cuts," she began, running a finger along the gash above the dead girl's heart. "They look like they were made with… well, the ancient Nords used these kinds of curved blades when they embalmed their dead. I don't know who in Windhelm would have something like that… excepting me of course."

"So, can we take that as an admission?" Serana asked dryly.

"Nope. I'm too busy tending the dead to make more of them…" Helgird said flatly, before returning to her task without the slightest hesitation.

"Another curious detail…" Aelfwynn mumbled to herself.

* * *

Aelfwynn and Serana stepped back into the open night, just as shy snowflakes began to fall once more from the void sky above.

"So, what's our next move?" Serana asked, casting her eyes amongst the shadows warily.

"The steward." Aelfwynn replied. "Best to have the city sanctioning our investigation, otherwise we could just be ignored, or the guards will be hampering us every step of the way…"

Serana knelt, brushing away the thin frost blanket which obscured the stones below. She lifted a small smear of blood on her finger. "Well, whilst you try not to expose your true nature in the palace, I think I'll follow this trail." She shook her head in resignation. "Honestly, that guard couldn't track if his life depended on it."

"Must be hard to see anything out of that bucket on his head." Aelfwynn added sardonically. "And his life doesn't depend on it, it's these young women that are being butchered whilst they fight their endless petty war…"

Serana raised an eyebrow and smirked, before examining the blood stain she gradually exposed. "Careful Aelfwynn, looks like you're about to realise mortals aren't all the saints you seem to think they are…"

Aelfwynn scowled at Serana's back for a moment, before tapping her on the shoulder. She turned, looking towards the shorter vampire expectantly. Aelfwynn grasped the left sleeve of her own robe with her right hand, looking away sheepishly.

"Just… just be careful, okay? I'm not sure what we're dealing with… yet. We aren't the only monsters to haunt these streets."

Serana looked perplexed at Aelfwynn's concern, before rolling her eyes. "I can take care of myself. My blood is a little more potent than yours, remember? So make sure I don't have to drag you out of some dungeon."

Aelfwynn coughed incredulously. "You make me sound like your damsel in distress…"

"I'm not the one who said it…" Serana teased, before vanishing in a cloak of darkness.

* * *

The Palace of the Kings stood proudly at Windhelm's heart, as it had for millennia. The names of Kings time struggled to recall were carved into great plaques built into the walls themselves, as if their very memory were at the core of the walls' foundations.

Windhelm wore its anxiety on its sleeve. Several guards lined the ascent to the palace gates, and each looked wary as Aelfwynn approached. Coming within several feet of the doors themselves, two guards swiftly moved into her path.

"What's your business here Breton?" A large, red haired woman asked, her grey eyes filled with hardened suspicion. The oversized battle-axe swinging from her back made her seem all the more formidable, although Aelfwynn wondered if attempting to be so unapproachable was at all a desirable feature in a town guard.

"A guard recommended I speak to the steward." Aelfwynn stated, lifting her hood.

The guard's eyes narrowed. "What about?"

"The murders. I'm investigating them."

The woman looked Aelfwynn up and down, before sniggering. "You're a priestess… and you're hunting a murderer through alleyways? Haven't you got your own duties to attend to?"

Aelfwynn struggled to smile sweetly over gritted teeth. "Our duties take us where we are needed, child," she began, imitating a cool superiority she had heard Matriarch Voadette in Daggerfall use a hundred times. "Perhaps the Windhelm guard should do the same. So, if you wouldn't mind letting me past, I have business in the palace. Unless you want to question me further, of course?"

With a gruff, and slightly embarrassed huff, the guards backed off, before opening one of the mighty doors to allow her entry. Aelfwynn quickly realised she rather enjoyed that little display of hers.

The Palace of the Kings was a far cry from Dragonsreach. Though the great hall was of a similarly immense length, here torches struggled to cast light from great arches on either side of the thick stone walls, whilst moonlight streamed in from narrow, tall slit windows behind Ysgramor's throne. Above the throne itself, two swords crossed behind a suspended shield, cast onto the walls between two flags bearing the famous bear of Eastmarch. Between Aelfwynn and the throne, goat-horn chandeliers hung above the single, central dining table, casting wisps of smoke which rose to coalesce with the torch-fumes, creating a miasmic cloud below the ceiling. The ceiling itself hung far lower than the lofty reaches of Balgruuf's palace, horizontal stone, bolstered by mighty beams for strength and stability. As with all of Windhelm, every building had to double as a fortress to some extent, to stand against whatever storms lay beyond its walls over the centuries.

After waiting expectantly by the throne for a few moments, a patrolling guard seemed happy enough to direct her towards the steward's quarters, though he was rather confused at why a priestess needed to see Jorleif as a matter of such urgency.

Aelfwynn climbed a narrow tunnel of steps, as if climbing through cavernous veins inside a giant stone beast. Finally coming to what she hoped was the correct door, Aelfwynn gave three tentative knocks.

"Enter," a voice answered, in a familiar Nordic accent. Opening the stiff door, Aelfwynn saw a man with an enormous ginger moustache sorting through a pile of paper scrolls, weariness weighing on his eyes. He rose to his feet rapidly, bashing his legs against the desk as he saw Aelfwynn.

"Sister, I must apologise for the mess. I was not expecting visitors at this hour…"

Aelfwynn smiled at him. "No need to apologise. I imagine your work makes such unannounced visits a little… inconvenient."

Jorlief's moustache returned it. "I always have time for the priesthood. We don't get too many of Mara's flock here these days. Such warmth is always welcome. What can I do for you?"

"Thank you," she replied, tickled at his efforts to be charming. Unlike High Rock, flattery was hardly a prevalent trait amongst Nords – especially the men. It meant that even when they tried, they tended to stumbled sideways over their tongues.

"I'm investigating this series of murders. I'm not sure if you've been made aware, but another girl has been killed. Susanna, she worked at Candlehearth hall."

Jorleif sighed. "I'm afraid I've been informed. 'The Butcher', as Miss Giordano insists on calling him, driving her neighbours into a panic. But she's right to be cautious. These are difficult times… when men stalk their brethren like beasts."

"Your guards seem a little too preoccupied to do anything about it, I hoped I might offer my assistance – with your approval of course."

Jorleif nodded solemnly. "My men are stretched thin as it is. If you truly plan to offer us aid, I gladly accept sister. The guards will be told to assist you as necessary, though I'm afraid I can't afford to spare you an escort."

"I understand. I'll report to you immediately if I discover anything."

* * *

The trail continued away from the centre of the city. Though the droplets of blood which had splattered over the paved stones had somehow gone unremarked by the dull mortal guards, to Serana the scent was sharp and clear. It wound up steep stairways, turned stark corners until the environment began to change.

Instead of cramped alleyways and fortified terraced houses, relatively enormous stone mansions dominated the area, rising above the surrounding homes with a dismissive arrogance. Iron fences cast in the shape of flowers that the climate would never allow separated them from the street, divided either side by small paved paths which led to studded wooden double doors. Each of these paths were guarded by sinister stone ravens, frozen mid-call as the elements slowly eroded them. The street came to an end before three mansions, at the top of a final flight of stairs bordered above by a continuation of the iron fencing. The irregular trickle of blood curved sharply to the left.

Serana approached the enormous house and peered at the inscription carved above the entrance.

 _Hjerim._

After ensuring she wasn't been watched, Serana surreptitiously climbed the small steps to the doors, and softly tried one of the wooden handles.

 _Locked. Of course._

Taking off her leather gloves and pocketing them, Serana summoned a small green light, stretching out like a fuming needle from her index finger. She gently pushed it into the lock, which began to click frenetically. After a brief frustration at the complexity of the lock, Serana smiled as she heard the final, satisfying clunk. She was in.

Only the faintest traces of muted moonlight trickled in through the windows. In every corner of the entrance hall and adjoining rooms, furniture appeared to have been viciously attacked. Wardrobes had been thrown to the ground, chests hung open at absurd angles, and fragments of broken glass were spread liberally across the worn wooden floor-boards.

And there was blood too, excessively and brazenly streaked across the planks, though for what purpose Serana could not even begin to imagine. She walked over to one of the few intact items in the hall, a simple wooden chest.

Prying the lid open, Serana was suddenly showered in sheets of paper, spilling uncontrollably onto the soiled floor. They all said the same thing, seemingly scribbled in an identical, scrawlish hand.

 _Beware the Butcher! The Killer who stalks the streets of Windhelm! See Viola Giordano if you spot any suspicious behaviour._

Serana sieved her way through the papers, quickly tiring of the monotony of their contents. Yet just before she gave up, her hand made contact with a different, more brittle texture. Grasping the small object, Serana pulled out a small leather sleeve, sealed shut with a button. Opening it, another slip of paper was revealed. The handwriting was different than the leaflets, it was smaller, meticulously neat, without a single slip of the hand or stray splodge of ink.

 _The plans are coming together swimmingly. I've found good sources of bone, flesh, and blood, but thus far a good sampling of sinew and marrow have escaped me. No matter. The city is swollen with contemptuous fools who will be missed by nobody._

 _Last night I was almost able to corner Susanna as she left Candlehearth. Idiot guards showed up at just the wrong moment and I had to turn about, just out for a stroll, and so forth. There will be other chances, but the time is drawing near._

 _I think back to my time in Winterhold. All the wasted minds up in their towers. They only explore the magic they already know. I am discovering new magic here. Something deeper than the cantripped shenanigans of fire and light. This flesh magic is older than us. Perhaps older than the world itself. I am tugging at the corners of the fabrics of the universe, and where it bunches and folds is where I shall create my greatest triumph._

 _One more attempt at the Candlehearth girl. She's proving to be a bit too cautious, but those strong joints of hers should contain the most exquisite tendons. Worth the effort. Tonight._

"Best keep hold of this…" Serana murmured, glancing at herself and wishing for a moment she had Aelfwynn's half-drowned satchel to hand.

Typical, she thought to herself. She'd got by just fine without any excess weight in the past, and this proved it - bag carrying was the sign of an incorrigible meddler. She made a mental note to snoop through whatever else was lying around in Aelfwynn's satchel the next chance she got, might be a good way of keeping track of what she was getting them into…

Keeping the leather sleeve in her hand, Serana went about exploring the ruined home, clambering amidst broken glass and wrecked furniture. Behind the stairs, in a smaller room – barely more than a closet, Serana noticed the decorations were far more intact. On the right-hand side an ornate wardrobe learned neatly against the wall, whilst straight ahead a set of shelves held more piles of those leaflets.

 _How many of these has this Viola printed?_

Once again, Serana rustled her hands through the pile, looking for any further hidden messages. To her surprise, what she pulled out wasn't a leather sleeve or hidden message. It was an amulet. Serana lifted it by the black chain and held it up to her eyes.

The face of the amulet was carved precisely into the shape of a turquoise, grimacing skull, gazing at her with alluring depths. Serana felt compelled by the emptiness of the eyes, those dark voids swallowing the light.

Serana quickly realised she couldn't move. Her outstretched arm may as well have been carved out of the same stone as the sentinel ravens outside as she stood, unable to blink, unable to breath a word. Then she felt the knife in her gut, and a brusque hand grasping her from behind.

"A vampire? A surprise, undoubtedly. Well, well my dear, you may be exactly what I need…"

* * *

Aelfwynn was surprised not to find Serana waiting for her in the alleyway. She didn't need a reminder that Serana was not only far older, but far more powerful than Aelfwynn. That alone meant nothing and no-one could likely stop her, or at least prevent her vanishing into the night if she so wished.

She paced impatiently for a few minutes, trying to stop herself from running through all the things that could have gone wrong. Throwing her hands up in surrender to her own frustrations, Aelfwynn began to follow the path of blood herself, hoping that it was her wayward companion she would find on the other end.

"Serana?" Aelfwynn called out, only for her voice to come back to her in fragmented, distorted echoes. The house refused to answer her further, speaking only in its secretive silence. The violent remnants of what was once a home reeked overwhelmingly with blood, which made the beast within Aelfwynn begin to scream at her for mercy. Eventually finding the cramped chamber behind the stairs, Aelfwynn felt something brush against her foot.

An amulet lay in the centre of another small pool of blood. Aelfwynn lifted the skeletal talisman, placing it in her hand. The odour of the blood was... different. Unable to restrain the basic compulsion, she ran a finger over the blood covered surface and placed in her mouth.

 _Oh Divines…_

The blood was the most potent liquid Aelfwynn had ever consumed. The ancient power which coursed through it was unmistakeable. Before she could make the obvious connection, Aelfwynn couldn't help but smear more of the blood onto her mouth, her ravenous tongue lapping up every stray drop. Part of her was disgusted by the messiness of it but there was no choice involved. Only need.

It was Serana's blood. She was drinking Serana's blood. Aelfwynn's eyes widened as her worst fears realised themselves. Something had caught her here, something powerful enough to wound, or possibly kill a daughter of Coldharbour. And now she was alone.

Aelfwynn quickly flickered through anyone who could possibly help her now. She dared not try and link with Frieda's mind – wherever she was. Bringing her into a series of murders, she'd probably just get competitive. Morcar wouldn't care, in fact he would probably delight in her helplessness to stop the evil all around her. Her mind even flittered on Jon before she remembered. He wanted you dead, he made you endure more suffering than anyone ever has… save possibly herself. Sihtric? Now, he would probably help, but it would take him a day to get here at least… worth a try?

She stuffed the now bloodless amulet inside her satchel, before ensuring her robe held no lingering bloodstains. She had to move quickly.

* * *

Jorleif seemed startled to see Aelfwynn again so quickly.

"Can we talk? It's urgent" Aelfwynn breathlessly blurted out, trying to drag herself out of a sea of fear.

"Of course sister… take a seat."

It wasn't until Aelfwynn sat beside the steward's desk that she realised he was wearing a night-robe.

"Oh… I'm sorry Jorleif. I didn't think, I just needed to see you. Did I wake you?"

Jorleif managed a tired smile. "It doesn't matter, especially if you have news concerning this killer which plagues our city..."

"I do. I followed a trail of blood which had been partially concealed by the snow. It led to one of the houses in the mansion district. Hjerim, to be precise."

"Ah, I know it. Been empty since poor Friga Shatter-shield died. Come to think of it… Friga may well have been the first. You'll be wanting a key then I suppose…"

"No," Aelfwynn interrupted. "I've been inside. I've been inside and he's taken my friend, Serana."

Jorleif was clearly taken aback. "Slow down sister, what do you mean? How could you or your friend get in in the first place? Those houses have some of the best locks in the city."

"I have no idea how Serana got in… but if this butcher has been using this house as his… lair, isn't it possible he has his own key? Maybe he knew we were onto him, left the blood trail to lure her in for all I know! But that's not what's important right now."

Aelfwynn drew the amulet out of her satchel, holding it out to Jorleif. "Do you recognise this at all?"

Jorleif frowned, holding the morbid amulet up to the candlelight, before passing it back to Aelfwynn.

"Hmph. It's nothing like I've ever seen. Looks like the thing ol' Calixto would know about though, or if not him Wuunferth, the court wizard. It looks sinister enough to have some foul magicks behind it."

Aelfwynn pursed her lips awkwardly. "I'll keep that in mind. Who's Calixto?"

"Calixto Corrium. Fine fellow by all accounts, if a little eccentric. Runs a quaint little curiosity shop down near the Grey Quarter. He has all sorts of things in there, might be he's come across something like your amulet."

"A curiosity shop?" Aelfwynn replied, the cogs in her mind clearly turning behind her eyes. She thought back to what Helgird had said about the knife. "Does he have any ancient Nordic artefacts? Burial items, embalming tools that sort of thing."

"Sounds like the sort of clutter he would have lying about, but I can't say for sure. Is it important?"

"It could be." Aelfwynn replied, her mind starting to weave strands together in her mind. "I'll pay him a visit. What does he look like?"

"Older man, grey hair, neat beard. Tends to wear fine tunics. Is there anything else?" Jorleif asked, responding to her failure to rise from the chair.

"I wouldn't want to keep you any longer than necessary Jorleif, but there is one small matter.

He held out a hand, beckoning her to continue.

Aelfwynn smiled gratefully. "I wondered, do you have any couriers here in the palace?"

Jorleif twiddled his blooming moustache thoughtfully. "Of course, sister. With the war what it is, Ulfric insists we always have a shift of boys on hand. We never know when they might be needed in these troubled times."

"They do say bad news often arrives in the middle of the night" Aelfwynn agreed jovially.

Jorleif chortled softly. "Just so. Though with Jarl Ulfric in Whiterun, things have been mercifully quiet of late."

"The Jarl is in Whiterun? Can I ask why, or is that 'sensitive information'?"

Jorlief shrugged. "It's no secret sister. Surprised you haven't heard. Ulfric went to Whiterun hold to personally oversee the transition of rule following the recent battle."

Aelfwynn's eyes widened. "Battle? What battle?"

"You must have been on the road for some time sister. Thought word would have spread across all Skyrim by now. 'The Battle of Whiterun', as folk are taking to calling it, when our Stormcloaks took the city. One morning of bloody battle if you can believe it. Though from what I hear, it could have been worse."

 _Whiterun…_ Aelfwynn thought to herself, losing herself in memories for a moment. She had been a stranger, a guest, friend, prisoner and saviour to that city. How much of it still stood? Her thoughts hovered for a moment on Balgruuf. She felt no real malice, nor any joy at the thought of his downfall. He had betrayed her of course, and that hurt still, but in her heart she knew the reason. He was just a good man trying to protect his people from the monster. He had attempted to make her seem more valuable to Whiterun than the animal he kept in the dungeons, even perhaps knowing the fate he had planned for her.

Jorleif broke the silence. "But I'm afraid must ask, where do you intend to send these letters, and to whom? I have no wish to invade your privacy, but I'm sure you see how foolish I would be to allow such lax measures in a time of war."

Aelfwynn snapped back to reality. "It's no problem. One letter is for a Nord, Sihtric. He should be at Jorrvaskr."

"Ah," Jorlief exclaimed. "The Jarl's latest protégé! Auspicious circles you move in sister."

 _Say what you will about that Dragonborn, he certainly gets around…_ Aelfwynn thought to herself.

"The other is for a priestess at the Riften temple. For Dinya Balu. I left the city in rather a hurry, best she knows I'm alright."

Jorleif struggled to stifle an exhausted yawn. "I see no problems with either, both are well within stormcloak territory. Now, I'm afraid I must bid you goodnight, before I start failing to string words together."

The steward turned his head as he rose from the chair opposite Aelfwynn, exposing his neck as he did so. The skin was pink from the rivers of hot flowing blood rushing just below the surface. Gods it would be so easy, and over so quickly. He wouldn't even have time to scream. Aelfwynn felt her fangs begin to lengthen in response.

 _Pull yourself together Aelfwynn. It's Serana's blood talking, just hold on for a little longer._

Feeling control of her hunger slipping away, Aelfwynn jumped to her feet with a rushed farewell, leaving Jorleif bewildered as his door swung slowly shut behind her.

* * *

 _Sihtric,_

 _You probably didn't expect to hear from me again huh? Probably not like this at least. I've just head about the battle, so I hope you and those you care about are safe. Vampires, a dragon and now the war – fate's been cruel to Whiterun._

 _I'll get to the point. I'm writing to you because there's a murderer loose in Windhelm. Three girls are dead already, the guards aren't doing a thing about it and frankly I may well be way out of my depth. There's something abnormal, something sinister about the way they were killed. I've already lost a friend to him, and she was at least as tough as you are._

 _So I don't have anyone else I can call on. But I know you probably won't be able to drop everything and get on the first cart, so here's the deal. I'm going to do my best to solve this on my own, but if I fail, it's down to you._

 _If all goes well, you'll hear from me in the next couple of days._

 _Your friend,_

 _Aelfwynn._

She rolled and bound this second scroll, handing one to each courier respectively, who nodded in turn before leaving the room. Aelfwynn was grateful she had briefly paid a visit to Ulfric's meat locker before introducing herself. Though the foul taste of pigs' blood polluted her taste buds, she no longer felt the urge to rip the two young men limb from limb. Not as strongly anyway.

There was one more visit she had to make before departing the palace. Aelfwynn was keenly aware that very few outside the tavern were likely to be awake at this hour. But she knew well that wizards kept strange hours. Aelfwynn remembered the hushed gossip of farmers and peasants in High Rock, claiming that wizards never slept at all. Then again, they claimed a lot of other, rather absurd things about wizards, but it was something.

The corridors became more and more silent as Aelfwynn approached where she had been told Wuunferth 'the Unliving' resided. In a city that was clearly so sceptical of wizards, Aelfwynn found it curious that no guards stationed to keep an eye on him.

Finally, the cramped passage descended down a small slope, and a closed door lay ahead of her. Aelfwynn took the opportunity to check if the wizard was indeed awake. Her focused hearing immediately picked up the pounding of his heart, the breaths he took, the rustling of papers.

 _Aha._

Aelfwynn knocked four times against the dark wood, the dull sound reverberating down the corridor behind her.

"Before you ask…" A cynical, dry voice began from behind the door, "No I have nothing to do with the worsening weather, or whatever other disasters you intend to bring to my door. So run along and tell your jarl, hmm?!"

The door creaked as Aelfwynn pushed it open, figuring this was the closest thing to an invitation she was likely to get.

The chamber was generous in size, and the crackling fire on the wall opposite in combination to the shelves, desks and equipment all overflowing with open books, unravelled scrolls and bubbling alembics gave the room a strangely cozy feel to it.

A figure wrapped in loose, blue robes turned furiously to face Aelfwynn as she stepped into the room, fuming beneath an enormous, chaotic beard which foliaged the lower half of his face. To Aelfwynn's surprise however, once he saw his visitor, his expression shifted from fury to curiosity. Finally, he chuckled mirthlessly.

"Well well, a vampire. Very well then, come on in. I could use a break from the tedium of the usual disturbances…"

Aelfwynn blinked in shock, before rushing to close the door, a little more forcefully than she probably should have.

"How did you…" She began breathlessly.

"Oh please!" He exhorted, waving a hand dismissively in her direction. "What do you take me for. You don't become as skilled with the magical arts, certainly you don't live for as long as I have without being able to recognise the undead. I'm insulted, frankly."

Aelfwynn raised an eyebrow. "Then if you know Wuunferth, why are you inviting me in? This is usually when you call the guards and order me killed…"

Wuunferth's hollow chuckle returned. "Because I am quietly confident that I could incinerate you in an instant, if you so much as bared those pretty fangs of yours. And I must admit, I'm curious. Necessary caveat for a mage, you understand. There are plenty of younger, easier victims running around Windhelm's streets – I would hardly be the first choice. Meat's far too tough, and you vampires are vain creatures for the most part. Why did you come here?"

Aelfwynn crossed her arms. "Well, as I'm sure you're aware – there's a plague of murders on the streets."

"Ah, I see. You've already eaten…"

Aelfwynn tried to restrain her rising temper, failing to get a word in edgeways as his accusations continued.

Wuunferth sighed. "That explains it. You know I've been looking into the killings, and you've come to silence me. How terribly dull."

"If you've stopped enjoying the sound of your own voice wizard, perhaps I could explain?" Aelfwynn retorted icily. She pulled the macabre amulet out of her pocket and held it in front of him.

"Another girl was killed this evening. A friend and I tracked the killer to a mansion in the western districts. Now she's gone and I found this amulet smeared with her blood. I need to find her, and I need to stop the killing."

Wuunferth took the amulet brusquely, examining it for a moment before staring penetratingly into Aelfwynn's pale red eyes.

"You're certainly… odd for a vampire. Less sure of yourself for a start. Alright, let's say I believe you for now. I'll play along and if it turns out you were onto something, I might just let you leave here as something other than an ash pile."

Wuunferth crossed to one of his many desks, before sitting down and studiously appraising the amulet. It was as if he was completely unaware of the world beyond him, though Aelfwynn realised that this too may be an illusion. She crossed to his book shelves, running her eyes over the spines of texts old and new.

It quickly became clear to Aelfwynn that time meant something different to wizards. The world outside of their particular object of interest became irrelevant.

Aelfwynn broke the hovering silence. "So, have you ever seen anything like it before?"

"I know it well. Or at least, I've heard of it. I would wager that this carving once depicted a more defined skull, however. This is the Necromancer's Amulet, of legend. Why, that would almost suggest…"

Wuunferth flipped open a second book next to one depicting the amulet in question, running his hand over a list of dates and locations.

"Yes, you may be right. There is necromancy at the heart of this."

"Necromancy? How do you mean?" Aelfwynn asked, perplexed by his leap of logic.

Wuunferth ran a hand through his beard, his eyes ponderous. "I've been noting a pattern to when the killings happen. Now that we know they're tied in to some sort of necromantic ritual, I think I know when the next might occur. Let's see. From a Loredas of Hearthfire until a Middas of Last Seed... Yes, the time between each killing is getting shorter. It will happen soon. Very soon. Tomorrow night in fact, most likely near the stone quarter. That's almost certainly where the killer will strike next."

Wuunferth looked at Aelfwynn for a moment. "Must admit, I was expecting more relief out of you. You do realise this means that friend of yours is safe, for the moment at least?"

Aelfwynn forced a smile. "No, that's certainly a relief. It's just… I hadn't expected necromancy to be involved. This ritual, what is it for?"

Wuunferth looked thoughtful. "Hmph. Could be for a variety of things. Raise a large portion of the dead at once, bind souls back to the mortal plane, I even recall once reading about certain necromancers who attempted to attract the attention of the Ideal Masters in a similar way…"

"The who?"

"The less said about some things the better, vampire. Now, I suggest you skulk back to wherever you're using as a lair and wait. If all's well, I'll meet you in the stone quarter tomorrow night."

* * *

She returned to Candlehearth Hall without incident. In the tavern hall above, a lute player competed half-heartedly with the roar of loud dockhands, whilst the floor creaked from heavy-footed revellers dancing their chills away. Aelfwynn sat on her rickety bed, pulling the amulet out of her satchel once more.

Things were starting to come together. If Calixto was indeed the man who she met at the scene of the murder, it fit her theory perfectly. He wanted to watch his monstrous act play out. He would be the next most likely to own ancient Nordic embalming tools. And now he probably had Serana, perhaps planning to use her in his foul necromantic experiments.

Wuunferth's words echoed in her mind. Serana was probably safe, the killer couldn't strike again until the following evening, or risk ruining whatever ritual he intended to fulfil. She was safe. But deep down Aelfwynn felt there was a risk to it. There was no guarantee she'd even find the killer, and certainly not before he killed again. She couldn't allow it. She wasn't able to stop herself as Wynn, but she could stop this monster and she could stop him now. If she brought this killer to justice, perhaps in some small way she could repent for herself.

Aelfwynn pulled her black vampire armour from the bag, running her fingers along its almost ornate, elegant design before removing her robe and putting it on. She would not go unprepared into a potential serial killer's lair. Though she resented the feel of the tight leather still soaked in invisible blood, she did not hesitate, finally pulling her robe on over the top before storming out into the night once more.

The Dunmer who wandered the narrow streets of the grey quarter did not take kindly to strangers. Hard-set red-eyes glared at Aelfwynn from beneath tattered hoods above worn robes. Snatches of animated conversation would fade into whispers and then silence as she passed by what she assumed to be the 'New Gnisis Cornerclub' where the Dunmer had segregated themselves from the rest of Windhelm's social life.

Aelfwynn was in two minds about Windhelm's racial divisions. She had strong sympathy with the elven refugees from Morrowind, she did after all have first-hand experience of dealing with attempting to win the trust of the nords. But that's often what it was – a battle. The Nords judged people on their deeds, their actions. Whilst outsiders often took that as a sign of inherent prejudice – though there were certainly examples of this – more often than not it was merely a misunderstanding of Nord culture. The Dunmer were an equally proud people, and from what Aelfwynn had seen, they had taken one look at the Nords suspicious frigidity and turned up their noses at it, instead isolating themselves from the Nordic community as much as possible. The Nords became more suspicious of this, and the Dunmer became more cynical at the relative squalor they lived in, blaming the Jarl for refusing to act to help elves. Of course, with the complete lack of communication between the two groups, they didn't realise that with the war being a season unending, it meant that no one in Windhelm was getting the help they really needed. These murders were just another symptom.

Eventually, Aelfwynn climbed the steps out of this sad neighbourhood, and turned onto the street where 'Calixto's House of Curiosities' stood. Though the door appeared locked, faint light peered out from thick glass windows, almost opaque from melting frost. Aelfwynn knocked confidently on the door. When there was no response, she tried again with an increased sense of urgency.

After a menagerie of creaks and heavy footfalls, the locks on the inside began to click as the door was unlocked. The door was pushed open a few inches, and a man gazed through the opening.

"I'm sorry my dear, but I'm afraid we're closed. Perhaps I could give you a tour of the museum in the morning?"

It was him, the man from the crime scene. Aelfwynn lowered the brown hood of her robe, causing a gathering of snow to collapse onto the stones behind her. "I'm terribly sorry to bother you Calixto, but the matter is rather urgent. I was told your expertise could be vital in assisting me."

"Do I know you? Oh yes, you were the girl helping the guards investigate poor Susanna's death. Do come in, just let me light a few candles…"

Aelfwynn smiled sweetly, lying with every mannerism of earnest empty-headedness she could muster.

Calixto made quick work of lighting the room, before returning to Aelfwynn. "Now my dear, or forgive me, sister is it? How might my knowledge be of use to you?"

"I found this amulet in what I believe is the killer's lair. I hoped you might be able to help me identify it."

Calixto looked genuinely puzzled, taking the necklace in his hands. "Let me see... ah, yes. This is the Wheelstone. It's an heirloom symbol of power in Windhelm. Traditionally it's carried by the court mage. I would... eh... be interested in acquiring it. If you're willing to part with it, that is. For a piece like this, I could pay... five-hundred gold?"

He was lying. Aelfwynn had seen the image in Wuunferth's book, and she knew from her own travels that this was no Wheelstone.

"Shouldn't it be returned to the court mage?" Aelfwynn asked with wide eyes.

"Wuunferth? Bah. It's purely ceremonial, and he has no use for it. Besides, I wouldn't want to be the one to give it to him. Gives me the creeps. They say he dabbles in necromancy."

Aelfwynn inhaled in faux-shock. "Really? You know what this means Calixto?"

"No my dear, I'm afraid I'm not sure what you're getting at…"

"Well, you see I've become convinced that necromancy has something to do with these killings. The dates, locations, they all fit with a kind of necromantic ritual."

Calixto open his mouth in shock. "Is that so? As if the murders weren't horrific enough… What else have you discovered?"

Aelfwynn began to pace, trying to give the impression of nervous excitement. "Well, Helgird thinks the wounds were inflicted by an ancient nord embalming instrument, like these you have on display here in fact. Moreover, the beggar at the crime scene was lying, there's no way she could have come running after the scream. She was acting on someone's behalf. And of course, there's the matter that this isn't the Wheelstone. It's the necromancer's amulet. I identified it myself, with a little help from the court mage."

There was silence for a long moment.

"You know, don't you?" Calixto said, with a darkness in his voice, mirrored precisely in empty eyes.

"Of course I know. I suspected from the moment I saw you at the crime scene, watching the spectacle unfold."

"Clever. Very clever."

"Why are you doing this Calixto? What could possibly be worth all this death, all this pain?"

Calixto scoffed, turning away from her. "You could never begin to understand…"

Aelfwynn's voice rose into outrage, grabbing Calixto's shoulder, forcibly turning him to face her. "I couldn't understand? I can think of a hundred motives, damnit I can think of a thousand! Young, pretty women? A hatred of women, a scream against your own loneliness? A power fantasy, after years of being ignored and passed over, suddenly you have the power to inspire terror in all of the more important people all around you. Suddenly you're worth something, suddenly you matter. It's delicious to you isn't it? Watching all the pain and fear spread!"

Calixto paused for a long few seconds. "You know what girl? It sounds like you're the one with the mind of a killer."

Any reply caught in Aelfwynn's throat as the truth of his words hit her. She was projecting. She couldn't wait, couldn't hold off another moment longer because she could no longer bear the butcher being allowed to reign freer than the monster within herself.

"Whether that's true or not, this is what's going to happen. You're going to release Serana. Then I'm going to turn you over to the guards. It's more than you deserve. If it were up to me I'd…"

Aelfwynn felt the blood coursing through her, crying out for violence. She imagined the ripping of skin and the texture of flesh on her tounge. She could taste the blood rushing down her throat like an endless river. She reached for her amulet, begging silently for restraint.

Maddeningly, Calixto simply smilled at her. "No. I've come far too far to be stopped by you. I know what you are, I've thoroughly... examined your friend, and now I've got a closer look at you there's no doubt. If you breathe so much of a word of this to the guards, I'll expose you for what you are. My word carries quite a bit more weight than yours in this city, sister."

He placed a hand on Aelfwynn's amulet, causing waves of revulsion to pass through her. She tried to move her arm to swat him away, but found herself frozen. Calixto's grimace widened at her realisation of helplessness.

"And if that isn't enough of a motivation, if I don't hear that Wuunferth the Unliving isn't behind bars for the murders by tomorrow afternoon, your friend dies. I've taken what I needed from her. If you try anything, if anyone comes after me – she dies, and your little secret gets out. You can attest for yourself my power over the undead. I could kill her with a snap of my fingers."

Calixto daintily opened the front door, and Aelfwynn felt herself involuntarily walking out into the darkness. "Have a good night my dear. Pleasant dreams."


	33. Chapter 33: No Turning Back

_Author's Note: Thank you to all of your who continue to read this story. As always, feel free to leave me your thoughts in reviews!_

Chapter 33: No Turning Back

Jon halted his horse as the basin of Whiterun hold stretched out below him. He had considered extending his journey by another night in Riverwood, giving him time to collect his thoughts before returning to the city, but today he had made far better time than he expected. Anticipation to return home had spurred him onwards, and the afternoon sun still shone strongly in the sky, albeit muted by the frostfall chill. He scratched the mane of his chestnut mare absent-mindedly as he pondered what waited for him. Would his father take him back? His mother? Would Idolaf show him the slightest trace of respect?

Had they even survived the battle? That question hung on his mind heaviest of all. His eyes stretched out to the city below. Jon was relieved to see the majority of the city intact. The odd building in the Plains district appeared to be gutted by fire, and the walls appeared to have been swiftly compromised in several places, but even from this distance he could see that men were at work repairing the damage.

Jon pushed his horse into a canter, yet as he approached the crossroads, he turned his horse to the north-east, and made for his sister's farm. He couldn't bring himself to face his father and brother, not yet. Alfhild had been far from his thoughts at times whilst Jon was away, yet now he saw the familiar farmhouse drawing nearer with every hoof-fall, he now realised he had missed her terribly. Out of his entire clan, Alfhild was the only one who had supported Jon's desire to join the bard's college. She was the only one who saw the futility of their feud with clan Gray-Mane, and the madness of the war as a whole. And she was the only one Jon knew could forgive him. Forgive him not only for his perceived folly, but for leaving them all in his madness.

He rode his horse around the crumbling cobblestone walls which bordered the family farm, causing the startled oxen dotted sparsely around the fields to dozily raise their horned heads momentarily, before returning to chewing absently at the turf. Leaving his horse to investigate the hay bales with contentment, Jon crossed to the door of the farmhouse, hesitating for a moment before pulling it open and stepping inside.

The farmhouse lacked any of the grandeur of the family manor in the wind district. A house was often a reflection of its owner, and this was Alfhild's domain. Sparsely furnished, with a dining table in the corner, a cooking hearth at the building's heart and small adjoining chambers for sleeping and storage, this farmhouse was built for pragmatism and efficiency – much like Jon's sister. Sat at the table nibbling unenthusiastically on a cabbage leaf, Jon immediately caught sight of his nephew Lars.

He watched the boy's jaw drop with a smile as their eyes met, before Lars leapt from the chair and ran to envelop Jon's legs in his arms.

"You came home." Lars stated simply in a small voice, before promptly bursting into tears. Furrowing his brow, Jon pressed the boy against him, comforting him with soothing murmurs and a stroke of his head.

Jon lifted his face, only to see his sister staring at him half in disbelief, her turquoise eyes frozen in a moment she dare not leave.

Only her lips moved as she spoke. "Lars, see to the chickens for a moment."

The boy's expression was touched with reluctance. "But mother…"

"I said now Lars." Her voice clearly indicated this was not negotiable.

With a final reassuring ruffle of his blonde locks from Jon, Lars walked out into the afternoon. Jon watched the door close, nearly being knocked off his feet as his sister surrounded him in her embrace, planting a warm kiss on his cheek.

"Somehow I knew you'd come. Not a day went by I didn't fear you'd… never mind. But how did you know it was today?"

Jon placed his hands on her waist, stepping back to look his sister in the eye. "Knew what was today?"

Alfhild's eyes widened, her head turning away as she bit her almost purple lip.

"You'd better sit down. We need to talk."

Jon nodded as Alfhild guided him to a chair, taking his hand in hers and refusing to let go even after they were both seated.

"How much do you know already?" she asked carefully.

"I heard about the battle. That the Stormcloaks took the city. I've heard rumour and speculation on the roads, but little else. I assume Balgruuf is no longer Jarl at least?

"No." Alfhild said sadly, "No he isn't."

"How's father tak-" Jon began, but his sister swiftly cut him off.

"Idolaf's dead Jon. Our brother is dead." She closed her eyes as she said it, as if to blind herself to the pain.

Jon froze. He played the moment over and over again in his mind, trying to understand what his sister had told him. The words just wouldn't connect somehow.

"How?" Was the only word he could muster.

Alfhild's composure shattered into devastated fury. "He wouldn't listen to me. I told him to stay out of it, that our son would still need a father, but he let his damn pride get in the way! He went out to join the imperial garrison, he picked a fight with the Dragonborn and got a sword through his heart… tonight is the funeral."

Jon reached out to comfort her, but Alfhild wasn't finished. "He's done it again Jon. He's let his damn obsession with proving himself to everyone and anyone take him from us, and he's left me to pick up the pieces. Like everyone else in this gods-forsaken family…"

Jon felt a deep shame rising from the pits of his stomach, taking his hand from Alfhild's.

"Jon I didn't mean…" Alfhild began, realising the implications of what she had said.

"No, you're right. I was wrong to leave in the way I did. I'm still paying for it Alfhild, and will be for some time yet."

Alfhild sniffled, as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Her voice now made no attempt to hide her emotions. "At the time I couldn't understand why. So, you had been seen with someone who turned out to be a vampire, and suddenly I barely recognise you. You're getting arrested by the guard one moment, then you're gone without so much as a goodbye! But in the end… well, it might have been for the best you left when you did. Jon, after you stormed out… father found your letters, the ones from Olfina."

Jon paused for a moment, twiddling his fingers. "Well… that complicates things," he stated simply. "How did he take it?"

Alfhild looked pained. "He umm… well it was in the heat of the moment. I'm not sure he knew what he was saying."

"Please, Alfhild. Just tell me."

She took a deep breath. "He said you were no son of his, and he hoped you'd stay away for good."

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose, scrunching his eyes shut. "Perhaps… perhaps it might be best if I were to stay away from the funeral."

Alfhild slapped his wrist. "No! It's time we told father that it isn't just his family. It's our family. It's time we stopped letting that man's opinion of us run our lives. Idolaf was the one who took his expectations to heart, and look where that got him. Where its got us all…"

There was silence for a while.

"Jon," Alfhild began, "I need to know. What happened to you? Why did you leave when you did?"

So Jon began to speak of the fateful night when he met Aelfwynn. He told his elder sister of the fight with Uthgerd, that he had sought her aid to assist him in his troubles with Olfina, only to abandon that very chance to follow the priestess to Orphan's rock.

"Then you found out she was a vampire." Alfhild deduced.

"Aye, I did at that."

Alfhild let out a small series of giggles. "You couldn't just fall for the wrong woman once, could you?"

Jon chuckled in spite of himself "You were always the most sensible of us Alfhild."

"I wasn't given the chance to be any thing else was I? Father decided our brother and I were to be married when we were children. They never gave me the chance to be reckless, to fall in love… Don't get me wrong, Idolaf wasn't the worst husband I could have wished for. But he could be… difficult."

"Alfhild, he could be an ass," Jon added mirthfully, his eyes filling with tears. "But he was our brother."

Another mournful minute passed between them, as the silence spoke its lament.

Alfhild broke it first. "So, where did you go?"

Jon sighed softly. "Skyrim's curse claimed me for its own. I went to war – not against Stormcloaks or Empire, but against the creatures I thought had unmanned me. I became everything I thought I despised."

Alfhild was clearly shocked. "You became a vampire hunter? You?"

"I did. In the Dawnguard I found a place to hide my guilt, and my anger made the killing make sense."

"And did you find her?"

Jon's eyes became haunted. "I did."

Alfild seemed to sense his disquiet. "And?"

Jon's hands started to shake. "I murdered someone Alfhild. I killed a woman who'd showed nothing but kindness to me and somehow, I thought it was right. And a part of myself will always be dying with her, under that cursed lake."

* * *

A gentle breeze blew past the barren trees, whilst the shivering mudcrabs patrolled their little island at the heart of the Mara's eye pond, clicking their claws almost musically.

"So," Frieda began, pulling the end of her golden plait from between her teeth with a smirk. "Why hasn't your god told you exactly where my little troupe are if he's so 'all knowing'?"

Frieda had made it her mission statement to shatter this man's unbreakable faith. If she could just sow one little seed of doubt and watch it grow, it would make having been forced to listen to his constant sermons bearable. So far she had been phenomenally disappointed.

"If Arkay gave us all the answers" Florentius replied dryly, "there wouldn't be much use for free will, or skill for that matter. Tracking Daedra is a skill which takes cunning, discipline and precision. All of which I happen to possess in vast quantities."

"So far it just seems to be following the body trail…" Frieda mocked.

Florentius snapped around to face her. "your tendency to make jests of the deaths of innocents does you no credit vampire."

Frieda bore his stare coldly, taking on an expression somewhere between severe boredom and exasperation. "Nobody's innocent Florentius. Anyone who tells you anything different is a liar or an idiot. Which are you?"

Florentius stared at her for a moment, but said nothing.

Frieda allowed Florentius to wade half-way across the pool before she bent down to the waterline and traced a clawed finger into the water. A sheet of thickening ice crept from bank to bank, forming a bridge. In the midst of crossing, Frieda made a show of crouching down to offer Florentius a pale hand. He ignored it, complaining to Arkay under his breath and continuing his infuriated fording.

Once he was ashore, Florentius set about examining the island, narrowly avoiding the mudcrabs which squirmed frantically to avoid his footfalls. A trapdoor sat at the centre, surrounded by a plethora of discarded shovels, tools and a series of sodden, upturned chests – the latter of which had been dumped unceremoniously in the surrounding waters.

"A smugglers den, clearly." Florentius decided audibly, before examining the wood of the trap door more closely.

A streak of blood ran across its centre, ending in a hollow handprint. There were great scratches into the wood, clearly made by panicked fingernails. "Their latest victim I think. Arkay thinks so too."

Florentius stood, turning to face his ersatz companion. "Know that even if you were to turn on me here vampire, it won't save you. Arkay will warn me of whatever schemes lurk in your heart."

Frieda shot him a patronising glare. "This is as much for me as it is for you priest. Then we go our separate ways. And trust me, the threat is mutual."

As Florentius softly pulled the trapdoor open with a signalling nod, Frieda jumped into the darkness below, making no sound as she landed. The priest followed her, more cautiously descending the rope ladder which precariously swung back and forth under his weight.

Peering around the corner, their suspicions were confirmed. Gaunt figures in familiar armour stalked around the spacious cavern chamber, some drinking from fat bottles full of viscous red fluid, others slashing visciously at unoffending practice dummies. Whilst the call of blood distracted Frieda for a fraction of a second, the sound of a heated argument soon caught her attention.

"I don't take orders from you Stalf. You forget your place." Frieda recognised Fura Bloodmouth, her inhumanly concave cheeks and shock of court red hair unmistakeable. She appeared to be addressing a dark-haired male, stood next to her over a wooden table. A recently drained cadaver lay still upon it, bearing mute witness.

"Lord Harkon has spoken," Stalf spat, drawing his face into a sneer. "I'm so sorry he can't send Orthjolf himself with a finely written scroll, but they have more important duties to deal with than directing our lord's mad dogs…"

Fura grabbed Stalf by the throat with one hand, knocking the blood-drained corpse from the table as she did so, before throwing the male vampire down onto it.

Underneath her stranglehold, Stalf attempted to laugh mockingly. "Kill me, and Orthjolf will ensure you and your little underlings are next… Who knows… that alone might just be worth dying for!"

Fura released her grip with a snarl. After leaping to his feet, Stalf drew himself up, straightening his cuirass and grinning beneath his untrimmed brown beard, his burning eyes filled with delight.

"Lord Harkon commands that all of you cease your little raids against his enemies, and instead focus all your efforts on finding a moth priest, newly arrived in Skyrim."

"A moth what?" Fura spat back at him.

"You don't know? What a shame…" Stalf began, revelling in his brief authority. "Fortunately you don't need to understand what he does to catch him. Ask the cart drivers, the tavern owners about him. Gossip travels faster than any horse after all…"

Stalf turned away from Fura, and with a friendly grin to each vampire he passed, began to approach the entrance to the den.

"Before you leave Stalf, I have a message for our lord."

Stalf paused, turning back to face her.

Fura's lips formed a disgusted snarl. "Tell him his latest little whore's whelp nearly got us all killed. Their bloodline is obviously infected with weakness."

Stalf smirked. "I wouldn't worry Fura. The sire herself has failed to return the bloodstone chalice to our lord… if she's alive, she won't last long. Your position is secure… well, as secure as it ever was."

Taking one step back, Stalf took a grandiose, flowing half-bow. "Farewell." He said smugly, before resuming his departure.

 _Well then_ , Frieda thought to herself, _he can't leave here alive either_.

"Stay put meat." Frieda mouthed silently to Florentius, as she edged slowly along the wall obscuring them from view.

As Stalf swaggered around the corner, Frieda leapt from the shadows, gripping either side of his head and wrenching it clockwise with a terrible crack. A single moan escaped his lips before he fell into silence, and his body began to dissolve away into pillars of falling ash.

Every burning, undead eye in the chamber was on her now. Expressions of disbelief, shock and even occasional amusement called out from each of the coven's faces as Frieda stepped boldly into the light of the chamber.

"You!?" Fura spat harshly, storming towards the intruder.

"Me!" Frieda replied, crossing her arms with a smug smile.

"I'm going to enjoy ripping out your throat whelp" she cast her eyes down at the dust pile. "Do you have any idea what you've done?!"

"Well, it shut him up for a start… You don't think I'd let that waste of unlife skulk back to Harkon after that glowing review you just gave me, do you?"

"No more than you deserve. I thought you had fire girl, I thought I sensed a true thirst for the kill in you. But you're weak – and I'll be sure to tell Harkon myself, after I feed your ashes to the death hounds – but just before he eviscerates your entire wretched bloodline!"

Fura launched a fist at Frieda, who managed to catch her wrist with an unnatural twist before failing to dodge a vicious kick to the knee, sending daggers of pain up her leg. As Frieda staggered backwards, and the other vampires began to circle like slaughterfish sensing blood in the water, some pulling weapons from scabbards, others readying the scarlet wisps of a spell in their palm.

As Frieda continued to launch and parry blows of equal ferocity, an explosion of golden light blinded her. Frieda turned, covering her eyes with her forearm to shield herself from the worst of it. When she opened them, she saw Fura staring uncomprehendingly at the bloodied ashes of four vampires who had been entirely obliterated in a single moment.

Whilst her enemy was distracted, Frieda pushed aside the instinctual terror of what she presumed her companion had unleashed. Drawing her sword, Frieda drove the point of her steel blade through Fura's throat. She began to choke, thickening blood beginning to flow out of her mouth and nose. Frieda grinned sadistically as she kicked her former taskmaster to the ground.

Frieda was unable to enjoy her victory for long however, before the teeth of an axe bit deep into her thigh. Collapsing to the ground, Frieda saw a hideous Imperial vampire grin with self-satisfaction. The expression quickly vanished as Frieda slashed to cut out his ankles from under him with a defiant battle-cry.

"Never let go of your weapon, milk-drinker" she chided angrily as she winced, pulling the axe from her leg and leaving the imperial to cry out in a spreading pool of his own blood. Her eyes sought out Florentius amidst the carnage – only to see him engaging the three remaining vampires, his axe swinging precisely with one hand, a ward deflecting frantic blows from sword and claw with the other.

Unable to rise between her battered knee and sliced leg, Frieda instead grasped the dead vampire's axe and hurled it at one of the priest's attackers, burying into the back of his skull with a terrible crunch. As Florentius swung with his axe to carve open the chest of one assailant, the other danced elegantly around his ward, and dug her fangs into the priest's robed arm. Frieda could see his strength rapidly ebbing away through the ravenous vampire's bite as he slowly fell to his knees, exhausted and finally overcome.

It would be so easy, Frieda realised. Let the priest fall and save herself the trouble of a confrontation. Both of them must have known only one would leave here alive. Yet conflict bubbled around in her head. Though she would never admit it, Frieda had come to respect, oblivion to admire this man's unyielding resolve and bravery. Deep rooted Nord values - once thought long forgotten - railed against Frieda's vampiric pragmatism.

Three ice spikes suddenly embedded themselves in the final vampire's chest, as Frieda made the choice she immediately regretted.

Florentius collapsed fully to his knees, clasping his hand around his bleeding wound.

"Arkay give me strength!" the priest cried, as he bathed himself in aethereal light.

A few moments later, he had staggered to his feet and limped across the cavern to stand over her. His expression was indecipherable.

"Go on then priest." Frieda invited between laboured groans. "You wanted me dead the moment you saw me. We both knew this is how it had to end."

Florentius furrowed his brow. "You could have let that creature kill me, vampire. And yet here I stand."

Frieda averted her eyes. "Hmph. As usual, you're flattering yourself priest. If I had let her live I would have been next. Self-preservation, nothing more."

"Arkay seems to doubt it." The frustrating man even started to smile. "He says that perhaps there's some spark of decency still in you."

"I think I'd rather you were roasting me alive than forcing me to listen to this…" Frieda complained, once again stubbornly trying to rise to her feet. Meanwhile Florentius had crossed to the table where the dead victim lay. Through slightly blurred vision Frieda saw him pick up a dark crystal, before running it over in his hands.

"It seems the divines have further need of your services vampire. Rest for now. Then this cursed place will burn."

* * *

The windows and pillars in the temple of Kynareth were adorned with bright bushels of gathered mountain flowers, bright red, blue and purple hues softly glowing in the gentle candlelight. A small crowd gathered in a circular formation around the centre of the room, their faces solemn and heads bowed. Jon closed the door after his sister stepped through, before turning to see his mother and father at the centre, standing over one of the temple slabs.

Still dressed in the armour he insisted on wearing wherever he went, Idolaf Battle-Born lay perfectly still upon the slab. Jon found himself focusing on every meticulous detail, as if to avoid the meaning of the whole picture. He focused on the arms arranged in a crossed fashion over his brother's chest so that each hand grasped the opposite shoulder, focused on the pallor of his cold skin and the neatly combed long blonde hair still damp from the priests' preparation.

Jon began to step forward, but Alfhild caught his hand in hers, shooting him a glance which instructed him to wait.

Behind the body, what Jon presumed to be the new priest stood. He was an older Nord, his dark beard speckled with white, wearing the traditional priestly robes. As he began to speak, he raised his arms in benediction.

"Death is not the end, it is man's reward. In the beginning of time, Shor declared that a Nord not be judged by his place in life, but in the manner of his death! Idolaf Battle-Born fell fighting for what he believed, and the ring of his sword was surely heard in the heavens. May the blessings of the eight divines carry his soul to Sovngard, where he shall enter Shor's hall, and sit at the table of ascended heroes, where our warriors have dined since the dawn of our race."

The rites completed, the temple's two attendants respectfully moved the body onto a stretcher and began to carry it with dignity towards the Hall of the Dead. The crowd began to disperse, disappearing through the door behind Jon and Alfhild, leaving the Battle-Born clan alone to grieve.

After several uncertain moments, Jon lightly coughed into his hand. The two elder battle-borns turned to face them, and his father's face turned as ashen as the slopes of Red Mountain. Jon braced himself, preparing for the rivers of explosive rage to come pouring out. He was ready.

Yet his father said nothing as he turned away, refusing to meet eyes with Jon as soon as he recognised him. He began to move to follow the procession, his hands curled into fists.

His mother was not so subtle, strutting towards him stiffly. "Where were you when he needed a shield-brother?" Bergild Battle-Born chided with quiet fury, gripping Jon's wrist painfully for a moment, digging sharp nails against his skin before throwing it aside, and storming after her husband.

"Have you nothing to say to me father? Only silence for your son?" Jon asked, his voice close to breaking.

Olfrid stopped, yet refused to turn. "My son is dead" was all he said, in a terribly quiet voice, before walking out into the evening gloom, the sudden rush of wind echoing his anger.

"Jon…" Alfhild began, her eyes searching the breadth of the temple as if the words might be found among the garlanded pillars.

He tried to smile at her through teared eyes. "No, it's… it's alright sister. The name was always a bad fit, eh?"

Alfhild looked hurt. "What happened to telling father it wasn't only his name?"

"Alfhild, I think I'm finally starting to see. Idolaf - he had Battle-Born sewn into his very being, it's all he ever was or ever wanted to be. Kill Stormcloaks, revere the Empire, hate the Gray-Manes and keep the blood pure. The legacy of Battle-Born is a chain. But a man with no clan? Well, he may not have all the advantages life can give him. But he can make a name for himself. He can make choices – whether they be good or terrible ones. And maybe he can make amends."

Alfhild barely gave him time to finish. "And what of your sister who never had that chance? I have a son who has just lost his father, and a mother and a father of my own who have nearly given up. Now the brother I thought could be dead for all I know turns up out of nowhere – and now you're starting to sound like your leaving again!"

Jon bowed his head slightly, realising the hopelessness of his sister's situation, and feeling guilt at his own selfishness.

"No," Alfhild began after a few moments, her voice hovering between resignation and resolve. "I shouldn't let the sins of our clan claim us both. We'll be fine – I can be strong enough. You should have the chance to live your own life. Just… just promise me one thing?"

"You'll always be my sister Alfhild. Never doubt that."

"I don't. I meant that if you have to choose between the sword and the lute again – you'll make the right choice. I've seen what Skyrim's curse has done to you already."


	34. Chapter 34: Acts of Desperation

Chapter 34: Acts of Desperation

Aelfwynn didn't know how to feel. She just felt empty, hopeless as the door closed behind her and the Windhelm snows swirled around her once more, indifferent. She had spent every moment trying to atone in some small way for what she had become, but ultimately, what was the point? The heroes of the story were busy carving each other into pieces, and in their shadows the wolves had been licking their lips in anticipation. In the shadow of this… insanity, all these evils had been allowed to grow, a foul malignancy lurking in every shadow. And for every insane madman trying to darken the skies, there seemed to be countless, smaller evils causing pain and suffering whilst Skyrim looked the other way.

Retreating into her thoughts, Aelfwynn could almost audibly hear her sire's sneers echoing, feel his icy breath on the top of her ear.

 _Why does the life of Harkon's spawn matter to you? What does the life of an undead abomination compare to one of your beloved mortals_? You could wait, wait until exhaustion takes him, tear out his throat. How long has it been since you killed someone you really hated? I imagine the need is unbearable…

"Get out of my head!" Aelfwynn screamed, tugging at her hair as she bit into her own lip.

No. Serana may have been… callous, uncaring, even arrogant at times, but Aelfwynn couldn't sentence her to death. Aelfwynn didn't have enough friends that she could lose one so easily. Especially one so crucial to defeating Harkon.

Exhaling with a snarl of frustration, Aelfwynn began her return journey through dark abandoned streets, climbing back towards the Palace of the Kings.

* * *

Wuunferth the Unliving muttered to himself as he pulled the tome from the shelf. He gently placed the maroon cover onto his desk, before absently reaching for his quill. The wizard placed the feathered pen in his mouth for a moment as he prised the book's pages apart with a curator's care, before blowing the gathered dust from the pages. The parchment was blank, slightly faded and creased with age, the edges worn from a thousand gentle page-turnings. Wuunferth dipped the quill in his inkwell, tapping it against the rim before taking it to the page:

 _Falion,_

 _Sorry for disturbing your research – I know you and I are of the same mind when it comes to the endless interruptions of mindless fools, who need someone to blame for every problem under the two moons…_

 _I wondered if you could transfer some of your notes on the nature of Vampirism. As Skyrim's foremost expert on the subject, I thought it best to seek your insights._

 _May the true power in this world guide your study,_

 _Wuunferth._

As Wuunferth lifted the quill from the final line, the black ink began to fade, falling into the pages before vanishing entirely, leaving the parchment entirely unblemished. The old man waited for a few minutes, restlessly interlocking his weathered fingers, his pensive eyes distant. Then, without a sound, words began to rise out of the page in a new, more ornate handwriting.

 _Wuunferth, a pleasure as always. An extract from a book I've been working on for the past few years. – Falion._

 _It is a common attribution to the vampire throughout history that they are 'soulless monsters'. Such a description may serve in a poetic sense, but any practical experience with soul trapping such a creature will quickly disprove this. Indeed, a vampire still possesses what we would understand as his or her soul, yet the blood of Molag Bal coursing through their veins enslaves them to be instruments of his desires. Yet due to the unique blending in each embrace, a vampire often retains the foundation of their character – traits breed true into their 'unlives', but often twisted by Bal's domination. A vampire becomes incapable of true empathy, of compassion – apart from of course to those who share their unique strain of blood. It always comes back to blood._

 _The prospect of an eternity unburdened of the stunted decay of mortality is surely most tempting to the aspiring or even the most experienced mage. Many among us may believe that having accumulated enough power, enough knowledge and wisdom from the aethereal plane that they may retain their sense of self through sheer force of will. Yet I say it is through this very arrogance that the daedric lord of domination drags you into his service, and laughs behind his promises of liberation from your mortal chains._

A familiar pattern of knocks intruded upon Wuunferth's focus.

"What is it now?!" The wizard demanded, closing the book with a muted thump. He attempted to conceal the slight unease that the lithe creature's appearance caused him, moments after he was reading about her kind.

She entered the room slowly, her eyes downcast in a hopeless way. Once again Wuunferth was struck by the incongruity of this creature compared to everything he had read about vampires. Was this all an elaborate game then? Was she merely mimicking the signs of human emotion to further some unknown agenda?

"I…" she began, her voice hoarse. "I made a mistake."

"Oh?" Wuunferth replied, rising from his chair and turning to face Aelfwynn. "Hmph, out with it then. Dramatic pauses are highly overrated. You may not be getting any older, but not all of us have that privilege."

"I confronted Calixto – we were right, he admitted to being the murderer."

"You did WHAT!? Ohhh…" He groaned, slapping a hand against his forehead. "Do you have any idea what you've done? You couldn't wait one day…"

Aelfwynn grabbed a fistful of her hair in her hand. "Wait one day and what? We stumble blindly around the stone quarter and hope we catch sight of the butcher before he guts another victim? I had a chance to stop him here and now!"

"Why should you care one jot?" Wuunferth questioned acidly. "Last time I checked, your vampire friend was safe! Forgive me girl, but your kind are hardly known for their open acts of altruism…"

Aelfwynn stiffened her lip. "I'm a servant of Mara. Compassion is at the centre of our calling."

Wuunferth stormed over to her, gripping Aelfwynn's arm and searching her eyes intently. "What game are you really playing, underneath that mask!?" He demanded of her, his arms beginning to crackle with flashes of destructive energy.

Aelfwynn kept still, seemingly trying not to provoke him further. "A dangerous one, or so I'm told. But I'm just trying to help where I can. Either you help me, or you end this now. I've had enough self-justifying for two lifetimes."

Wuunferth was puzzled by her reaction. His anger and provocation should have forced some instinctual reaction, some violent move to reveal her true intent. Yet there was nothing, her eyes seemed merely… resigned in an irritated fashion. He released his grasp, surrendering to the absurdity of the situation and returning to lean over his desk in exasperation. "You want to play priestess a little longer hmm? Whatever amuses you. So, what mess has your little visit got us into, hmm?"

Aelfwynn looked at her arms, flexing each of her fingers as if testing them. "He… has some sort of power over me. I can't attack him, he made me leave without so much as laying a hand on me."

Wuunferth shook his head slowly. "Are you simple girl? He's a necromancer – and whatever you may like to think of yourself, strutting about dressed like that… you're still undead."

Aelfwynn narrowed her eyes. "Noted, thank you."

Wuunferth didn't so much as turn to look at her, merely gesturing with his hand for her to continue. "So? Tell me what happened!"

"Calixto wants you to take the blame for the murders. If he doesn't hear you've been imprisoned by tomorrow, Serana dies." Aelfwynn seemed to shiver. "Not to mention I'll be exposed as a vampire to the city, then probably sentenced to death… again."

Wuunferth crossed his robed arms. "Serves you right, as far as I'm concerned. Perhaps next time you should consider listening to someone who, quite clearly I may add, knows better than you do! But as far as I'm concerned, you've solved my problems – I can still catch the butcher myself, and thrown into the bargain I no longer have two vampires casting pale shadows and causing mischief – most of which will be levelled at me."

"You're a callous old man, you know that?"

"Count on it." He replied without missing a beat. "Now, is there anything else?"

Aelfwynn took a step forward.

Wuunferth tensed, raising a hand slowly. "Careful vampire, your ashes would be mildly irritating to translocate out of this room."

"You know, I've had enough with your threats Wuunferth. I didn't have to get involved in all this. I could have just kept walking, but I wanted to stop a monster. I wanted to make a difference when your precious jarl and all his pot-headed soldiers are apparently too busy slaughtering young enthusiasts in Whiterun hold to protect their own!"

Wuunferth stayed silent for a moment. Strange as it may seem, her passion seemed to be… sincere. Either way, even if it turned out imprisoning him was part of a larger scheme, it would hardly cause him any trouble to escape. Saving the city from whatever cataclysm these dark forces planned might even stop Ulfric and his accursed bear-skinned sycophants from interrupting his study for a few days. The idea was suddenly rather growing on him. And if it wasn't… well, studying this rather odd specimen of vampirism may prove a pleasantly refreshing diversion.

"Alright, fine." He finally decided, reluctance hanging unsubtly in his tone. "I might just go along with this. But I'll need that amulet of yours."

After a moment's hesitation, Aelfwynn put her hands to the back of her neck reluctantly. "What for?"

"Oh… don't start asking questions, you're not my student! Now make yourself useful and pass me that soul gem."

* * *

Serana groaned painfully as the sharp pains finally forced her into consciousness. She opened her eyes to find her limbs manacled to a wall, her arms stretched in either direction to the point of holding herself upright. Her armour appeared to have been removed, as blood dripped freely from several punctures in her arms, falling tunelessly into four alembics waiting below. Raising her head, Serana could see several filled alembics collected on a desk across the room.

Serana felt positively nauseous as she realised what had been done to her. Looking down, she saw several precise cuts across her lower body. Clarity finally began to crawl back to her. This so-called 'butcher' had captured her within the wrecked mansion, and obviously taken her to his true lair.

She had never felt so drained. Every small movement seemed to take an immense amount of energy, even trying to stay awake seemed to take constant, conscious effort. The chains which would hardly have given her a second thought at full strength now held her hopelessly. She didn't even have enough blood left in her veins to channel her 'other' form.

Yet her horror was only amplified when her eyes focused on the centre of the room. Neatly lying atop a bloodied examination table, surrounded by pails of flesh, bone, skin and organs, was a distorted mockery of the human form. The woman – if she could be called such, appeared to be constructed from several grafts of skin. Whilst neatly attached, the faint difference in skin tone between various sections was still clearly apparent. Even the scalp appeared to have been sewn on, perhaps more recently than many of the other additions. Most horrifically, the chest had been opened, as if it were a waiting receptacle. Serana shivered as she recalled the brutal slit above Susanna's heart…

Serana could not fathom what this 'butcher' was trying to do. The obvious answer related to some form of necromancy. Indeed, the joins between folds of skin would be child's play to someone of her mother's calibre. But resurrecting corpses never required such detail as this cadaver had in its construction – and indeed the fact that this corpse had seemed to have been entirely constructed from different bodies was completely unheard of outside the construction of monstrous flesh golems. And the bottles all filled with what was presumably all her blood…

The thought of blood suddenly stirred a great thirst within her, a terrible barren ache in her throat that seemed to send shivers throughout her body. Never since her turning had she ever felt the bloodlust so overpowering, so dominating.

 _Is this how it feels for lesser vampires every time they need to drink?_ Serana thought to herself. _Is this how it feels for Aelfwynn?_

Her present suffering only increased her complete incomprehension at how her companion could possibly put herself through this on a regular basis.

Serana slowly moved her gaze across the small chamber, looking for any signs of a key or release to her bonds, but saw nothing. Only the body, the blood and an odd collection of black gems which were arranged around the body. Serana recognised them, yet her mind refused to work as her body failed to conjure any magicka to help her escape, and the attempt to form an illusory key from her fingers only exhausted her further.

Thus the daughter of Coldharbour remained, hovering on the edge of her existence.

* * *

"How will we know if it works?" Aelfwynn asked as she rebound the chain about her neck.

Wuunferth grunted, taking the amulet in his hand brusquely and holding it up to his scraggle-bearded face. "You could always have another attack of moral obligation and try knocking on the killer's door again…"

Aelfwynn moved her hands to her hips with bemusement. "Sarcasm aside…"

The wizard waved his hand dismissively, allowing the amulet to fall back towards her chest with less delicacy that Aelfwynn would have liked. "I know it will. You're just not as attuned to magical fields as I am. To my eyes it is a distinctive aura."

Aelfwynn glanced around suspiciously. "I'll have to take your word for it. Are you ready?"

"Hmph. I'm still not happy about it. But whatever happens, those buffoons will release me once our necromancer unleashes whatever it is he's planning. Do me a favour girl, and don't leave it to me to stop the end times once they've started, will you?"

Aelfwynn smiled. "I'll do my best."

* * *

As their earlier conversation suggested, Jorleif was only too happy to lay the blame at a wizard's door. Rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes, he had immediately ordered Wuunferth's arrest without so much as a second thought. Aelfwynn watched the guards escorting Wuunferth to the dungeons with forced neutrality, as Jorleif thanked her once again for her assistance in bringing this 'butcher' to justice. Unwilling to watch the farce continue any longer, as Wuunferth made a show of ridiculing the guards' accusations, she walked out into the city, unseen by all the eyes fixed on the spectacle.

Time seemed frozen in Candlehearth Hall. Since her hurried flight from the palace at sunrise, Aelfwynn had waited for it to set with growing impatience.

This sense of eternity was further exacerbated by the tavern hall's most famous attraction – a candle which never burned out. In the idle moments, between the lute player's songs or attempting casual conversation with local folk, Aelfwynn found her eyes fixing on this small object. Every nervous flicker seemed so delicate, as if a single breath might extinguish a thousand years of history. Yet it burned on, the yellowed wax refusing to give way underneath it.

As morning turned to afternoon, word had apparently spread about her presence, as an irregular stream of young men and woman approached her, enticed by the sparkling blue gems of her amulet. The men spoke of the intoxicating passion of their amorous endeavours, whereas the women tended towards fears surrounding fledgling engagements and fears of unrequited love.

Despite these matters being the source of great worry and distress, these requests for assistance helped Aelfwynn settle her mind. For a short while she was just Aelfwynn, priestess of Mara, and the world was simple again. Distracted, her hunger faded into a distant ache, and she forgot. After all, stray lovers, disapproving families and the occasional blessing were far less fearsome foes than what she had come to be used to; though Aelfwynn wondered what right she really had to advise these people. Yes, she had spent over a decade studiously studying Aedric philosophy, Maran sermons and observed the older priests at work – but to show others how to love, surely one must know how to love in the first place. Aelfwynn had no idea what real love was anymore – every relationship she had was twisted and bound in unholy blood. She had no idea where she ended and the monster began. All she could do was hold onto the compassion Mara granted her – until she found the cure.

After dissuading one particularly intoxicated dock worker, who had confused her amulet of Mara for an invitation – Aelfwynn crossed to the nearest window, staying out of the reach of the dying sun's rays, nervously waiting for the moment she could leave unscathed.

Shadowing the city's outer wall, Aelfwynn approached the centre of the stone quarter. She heard the clang of metal as the blacksmith and his apprentice dumped their swords into great leather sacks alongside the rustling of the other merchants, keen to head home before the cold set into their bones. The scent of the butcher's meat still in the air caught in Aelfwynn's senses, but failed to break her concentration.

Within a few minutes, the market was empty. Snatches of conversation and flashes of torchlight faded into the distance, and Aelfwynn was alone with the dark snowfall.

She had no idea exactly where or when Calixto would choose to strike – she had highlighted as much to Wuunferth, but this was certainly a good place to start. After stalking impatiently around the edges of the barren wooden stalls for a few minutes, it hit her.

There was a far easier way for Aelfwynn to track this killer. After all, this was hardly the first time she had stalked prey through these darkened streets…

 _No._ Aelfwynn asserted to herself, he is the predator, _this is about justice, this is about what's right – not about blood, not about pleasure_. Taking a breath to steady herself, Aelfwynn closed her eyes, and allowed herself to descend into the music of the blood.

She could her them, heartbeats thumping like a call to battle. As she opened herself to the beast, Aelfwynn could smell mortal blood all around her, calling from under doorways and through cracked window-panes. Then she smiled a strange little smile, and evaporated into the shadows.

One heart was faster than the others. Wynn recognised it instantly, the unmistakeable music of terror. She was drawn by its mesmerising call, sprinting through alleyways and narrow streets, neatly avoiding gathered ice sheets and mounting snow. Briefly, Aelfwynn even forgot what she was supposed to be doing, her thoughts focused only on the kill.

Then she saw the prey. A high elf woman sprinted past the hall of the dead, her breathing rapid and shallow. She nearly tripped over her crude blue dress, the hem now coated in street-mud and frost. She kept looking behind her, frantically searching for a pursuer her green eyes couldn't see, throwing herself unthinkingly deeper and deeper into unfamiliar streets. She called out for help, but the swirling winds above swallowed her voice, the echoing walls throwing her words mockingly back at her.

It all ended when she turned the corner. A solid black wall met her twenty feet from the turning. The elf ran her hands along it, as if searching for a door or a handhold, before turning panicked to face the direction from which she had come.

The blood was begging Aelfwynn to pounce. To give her victim a few moments to realise her fate before draining every last drop of her adrenaline-filled blood. It took every shred of willpower to stay hidden, to allow her true enemy to reveal himself.

Sure enough, a hooded figure emerged from a side-street, before drawing a dagger from his belt.

"I want you to know this isn't personal." Calixto began, taking down his hood and looking directly towards his would-be victim. "Life isn't fair, and if it had been better to both of us, we wouldn't be in this situation. I'll make it quick my dear, as long as you don't resist."

Aelfwynn stepped out of the shadows, standing between Calixto and the woman.

Calixto's eyes widened for a moment, but then he chuckled. "Well, well my dear. Must admit, didn't think I'd be seeing you again so soon."

"Sorry to disappoint." Aelfwynn replied. "I won't let you take her Calixto, I won't allow any more deaths."

Calixto spluttered in amused incomprehension"You? Allow me? My dear, I'm afraid you misunderstand the situation." Calixto started towards Aelfwynn, raising his arm and holding his palm upward. He muttered softly under his breath as he clenched his fist closed, yet Aelfwynn stood firm. The murderer tried it again, his eyes filling with confusion.

"Drop the knife Calixto. It's over" Aelfwynn stated with finality.

"Once again, I'm afraid you're quite mistaken." Calixto spat back at her venomously.

An orb of black and purple began to swirl in Calixto's free hand, seemingly causing black veins to bulge up of his left arm – his eyes became void, and the air in front of him ripped apart.

Aelfwynn stared in horror as a portal to some dark realm opened before her, streaks of violet and black energy crackling out in all directions.

"What have you done?" She whispered.

Five skeletons, their bones as black as pure ebony stepped out of the dark rift, sending foul vapours seeping into the surrounding air. Aelfwynn didn't hesitate before lunging at one of them, her nails turning into claws mid-strike. Her hand caught the spine of the first skeleton, ripping it free with unnatural force, causing the skeleton's top half to collapse. She furrowed her arctic brow in concentration as she called forth a burst of sun fire in her other hand, striking the ribcage of another skeleton, the intensity of the blast forcing it to its knees.

But there were too many. The three remaining unscathed invaders moved to surround her, reaching their cracking arms out to grab her. The left-hand skeleton caught her wrist in a bony grip, before tightening it with agonising force. The other two forced her to her knees in front of Calixto, whilst Aelfwynn struggled with all her strength to break the grapple-hold.

She looked up at Calixto, and found him wiping bloodstains from underneath his now normal eyes with a handkerchief.

"I made a deal" he said simply, finally answering her question. "And power requires sacrifice".

Knowing he may finish her with a stroke, she made a gamble. "Fine then. You need a death, and you've got me. Just let that poor woman go. Let Serana go." Even if her curse had prevented her from living by her oaths to Mara, at least she could die trying to honour them.

Calixto shook his head, amused by her bargain. "Oh no, your friend has been quite useful for my work girl. Should something happen to her during one of my tests, you are the ideal replacement my dear. Not to mention, you must realise that you don't really count as a life to be taken, and your ashes will be of little use to me."

At this moment, the High Elf woman attempted to flee, but one of the skeletons restraining Aelfwynn struck her across the head with its free arm, causing her to collapse to the cold paving with a thud.

"But speaking of which, I should probably feed your friend before I kill Arivanya here. The blood of your kind is quite remarkable, and I can't have her dying on me yet."

Aelfwynn had a choice. She could try and end this now; launch a powerful enough spell to free herself from the grip of the bonemen and attempt to incapacitate Calixto, but if she did, how on earth would she find Serana? How much of Calixto's ritual was already in motion? The other choice was risky. Calixto needed both her and Arivanya alive until they reached what was presumably his true lair. The priestess lowered her head in resignation, forcing what remained of her bloodlust to the back of her mind as the dark skeletons forced her to her feet, and half-dragged her from the alleyway.

* * *

Aelfwynn couldn't fathom how they hadn't run into a single guard. Either the Windhelm watch were even more short-staffed than her pot-headed acquaintance at the murder scene had led her to believe, or Calixto had memorised the patterns of guard patrols down to the minute. She imagined both were partly responsible – his butchery of Susanna proved that he could not only murder a girl and vanish with no witnesses, but go so far as to extract several of her organs, before vanishing into the night and returning to the same crime scene.

It didn't take long for her to realise where they were headed however. The grandeur of the houses with their stone raven sentinels were unmistakeable. Jorleif probably thought these well-locked houses didn't need guarding. She fought the urge to curse under her breath.

 _Hjerim?_ Aelfwynn thought to herself in disbelief. She had searched the place top to bottom, at most she had come to the conclusion that the house was a trap for anyone who came too close to the truth – it had swallowed Serana whole, and given Aelfwynn the amulet which led her straight to Calixto. Moreover, Aelfwynn may not have had her companion's gift for tracking other vampires by scent, but if she were within the house surely she should have known.

Calixto opened both front doors triumphantly, carrying Arivanya's unconscious body in his arms and ushering his minions to follow. The Mansion was exactly as Aelfwynn remembered it, a broken house for a broken man. Calixto walked to the small store-room where Aelfwynn had found the amulet the day before, before turning to open the wardrobe standing against the right-hand wall.

Aelfwynn watched as the butcher of Windhelm reached out slowly with his index finger, and began to trace it carefully across the unremarkable wood of the back panel. To Aelfwynn's surprise, a trail of purple light – identical to that which had summoned Calixto's horrific minions – began to form like a fiery bloodstain. It didn't take long for her to recognise the symbol. A terrible eye, drawn thin and tall, with a single point at its centre. The infernal sigil. The sign of Oblivion.

The panel groaned, resonating with an almost musical quality, before sliding to the right, revealing what appeared to be a hidden chamber. Aelfwynn's eyes widened as the horrors revealed themselves, the pails of flesh and bone, the alembics of blood and the patchwork horror slumped on the table at its centre.

Then she saw Serana.

Aelfwynn felt disgusted as she saw her newest friend chained against the wall, her body stripped, her arms and wrists freshly cut open, dried rivers of blood trailing down her arms and legs. If she were mortal she would be seen as monstrously malnourished, her face was awfully emaciated and her sharp, vampiric cheekbones stark as they pushed against her skin. She tried to run to her instinctually, for a moment forgetting the creatures that brutally restrained her attempt. Serana's golden eyes stared back at her, their distant glow unseeing.

The beast and the priestess began to fight once more as Aelfwynn felt a terrible, blind rage. She had been inflamed enough by this murderer - killing these other women without a twinge of remorse - but now he had made it personal.

Aelfwynn's hands seemed as if they were evaporating into the very air, emitting a perfect white smoke, becoming brighter until becoming entirely indistinguishable from the gas. A single point of golden light appeared at their centre, and a soft humming began to vibrate through the chamber.

Calixto's head span round, pausing his efforts to bind Arivanya to the wall beside Serana, just in time for Aelfwynn to explode into a sphere of bright light.

The three ebony skeletons released their grip, their endless grin dissipating as their jaws began to snap open and shut as if in terror. They ran from the room, tripping over each other as they did so, writhing bones scrambling mindlessly for escape.

Aelfwynn rose, white hair falling over her eyes as they searched for Calixto, and their gazes locked.

Calixto reached for his knife, for the first time a measure of uncertainty in his stance.

"You can't!" Calixto ordered. Not when I'm so close!"

Aelfwynn flew across the room with a shriek, smacking him across the face with enraged force. A sharp crack rang in the air as he collided with the edge of the table. Calixto struggled to rise, placing a hand on the top of the table as he desperately tried to pull himself up. Aelfwynn grabbed him by the tunic, tearing him around to face her as she rammed his back against the table.

Distracted by her anger, Aelfwynn failed to guard as Calixto's hand wrapped around his dagger before plunging it into the back of her ribcage in three vicious stabs.

Aelfwynn gasped, sharp pains shooting through her entire torso, forcing her to drop to her knees. She refused to lose her grasp on Calixto however, pulling him to the ground beside her.

"Why!?" She demanded of him, grasping his jawbone before wrenching it aside, exposing his throat. "Power? Revenge? Hatred? I need to know! What was this all for?!" She screamed, the obscurity of his motives now more unbearable than the pain of her wound.

And then fangs met flesh, and the screams that filled the air were no longer Aelfwynn's.

"Lucilla!" The butcher of Windhelm cried, tears of agony streaking freely down his face as he writhed in pain.

Aelfwynn yanked herself free, leaving streaks of his blood free to flow down her chin as she stared at him in confusion.

His words came desperately between laboured breaths. "I…. I wanted to save Lucilla. My sister. I can bring her back, I must bring her back… let me br…" his words dissolved into a stream of bloody coughs.

Aelfwynn stumbled backwards in horror.

 _Love. He did this for love,_ she thought, suddenly feeling nauseous with his blood in her mouth.

Aelfwynn quickly dragged Calixto towards the wall, chaining him before trying to console the near hysterical Arivanya.

"What… what are you?" She demanded, dragging herself away from Aelfwynn as she approached.

"It doesn't matter." She started soothingly. "You're safe now. Tell the guards what he did. I won't blame you if you tell them about me either." She cast her eyes back to Calixto, her voice becoming thick. "I… I shouldn't have lost control."

Arivanya nodded quickly, before climbing dizzily to her feet and running from the house, sobbing as she went.

That matter solved, Aelfwynn's focus immediately shifted to Serana. She speedily searched the near comatose Calixto's pockets for the key. Once she had it, she released Serana's constrained arms, before moving to the table and lowered the nameless corpse to the floor respectfully.

Aelfwynn helped Serana to a sitting position on the table, gently brushing the hair from her friend's face before grabbing one of the bottles of red liquid. She inhaled deeply, ensuring Calixto hadn't tampered with the blood, before she began to gradually pour it into Serana's mouth.

Life swiftly reanimated Serana's limp limbs are her vitae was returned to her, mouthing silent gratitude to Aelfwynn before rising to her feet and limping towards the remaining bottles.

"What about him?" Serana asked bitterly, avoiding directly looking at her captor.

"We need to alert the steward. Then he can be punished for his crimes."

"I think I can handle that part." Serana growled, baring her fangs.

Aelfwynn stepped between them. "Serana we can't. If we kill him now everything will collapse around us."

"I didn't notice that in your thoughts when you tore into his neck Aelfwynn!" Serana pointed out, placing a hand on her hip accusingly.

"It was… I mean I just… saw you, and what he did and… I just snapped." Aelfwynn stuttered, her eyes panicked.

Serana's expression changed, shifting from cold anger to almost vulnerable surprise, before swiftly covering it up with a smug smile. "Really?" She teased. "I didn't know you cared."

Aelfwynn barely felt the impulse to retort, the realisation of what she had done almost consuming her as she just lowered her eyes.

"Fine then," Serana agreed, gathering up her armour. "But the next time you start getting noble impulses, you have to promise I get to make the decision to start… getting involved."

Aelfwynn nodded slowly. "You're right. I don't have the right to put you in danger like that. And I shouldn't value your life any less because you aren't…"

"Mortal?" Serana finished.

Aelfwynn turned away from Serana, and her voice dropped to a whisper. "Yeah."

Aelfwynn crossed to Calixto then, dropping to one knee and placing a shaking hand over the vicious bite-mark on his neck. Golden light poured from her stammering fingers, and the bloodied bite marks began to fade into nothing. Calixto took a sudden deep breath as the magic hit him, before the following breaths settled into a healthier rhythm.

Aelfwynn could almost feel Serana's eyes silently scalding the back of her neck.

"Trust me, a neck free of bleeding puncture marks will raise a lot fewer questions when the guards bring him in for interrogation."

Serana raised an eyebrow. "You sure that's the only reason?"

Aelfwynn failed to hide the guilt in her face. "No. No it isn't."

* * *

Serana finally broke the silence as she struggled to keep up with Aelfwynn's rapid strides away from Hjerim.

"So, are you going to tell me or do I have to ask?"

"Pardon?" Aelfwynn replied, her voice hollow, distant even.

"Something's bothering you. We've caught the killer, this dreary city of yours is safe and now we can leave. So why does it seem you're even more… mopey than usual?"

Aelfwynn didn't reply, not even turning around to face Serana as her brown robes flapped in the nocturnal winds.

Unphased, Serana continued her assault. "Last time I checked, I was the one who was mutilated after getting involved in your little investigation, so the least you can do is talk to me Aelfwynn!"

Serana ground to a halt as Aelfwynn stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes widened as she saw the tears running freely down her cheeks.

"I wanted to kill him Serana." She said in a horribly quiet voice, before it started to build. "I wanted to rip out his throat and scatter his remains all over this cursed city!"

Serana crossed her arms. "Aelfwynn, you saw what he did to those victims, what he did to me and you just got angry – it happens."

Aelfwynn just shook her head, throwing her arms up in frustration. "No, you don't see! I hated him because he was me! I was so sure I knew him, a sadistic killing machine who killed for the pleasure and revelled in the agony, lapping it all up, tasting so much better than just the blood…" her voice cracked, collapsing into a fit of sobbing, before continuing to rant through her panic. "But he wasn't! You know what he said?"

She grabbed Serana's arms with shaking hands. "He did it for love Serana. He just lost someone, and it destroyed him. And I couldn't see it? I'm supposed to be a priestess of the goddess of love and compassion – and I had none of either. What would I know about love?! All I could see is my own reflection!"

Aelfwynn fell against Serana's chest with a shudder, and the taller vampire just put an arm around her awkwardly, not quite knowing what to do.

"We need to talk." She decided. "Now."


	35. Chapter 35: Past and Present

Chapter 35: Past and Present

The sounds of hurried footfalls echoed through the Hall of the Dead as Serana stormed down the entrance steps, Aelfwynn's hand firmly locked in her own. A startled rat, caught nibbling amongst the dust bolted towards the nearest crevice beneath the wearied stone walls, leaving the two vampires alone in the darkness. After listening for a moment to ensure their privacy, Serana sat on the nearest preparation table, and motioned for Aelfwynn to sit beside her. The steel in her eyes and the force with which she patted the dusty stone clearly informed Aelfwynn that this was not a discussion.

"Serana…" Aelfwynn began, clearly still in a panic as she began to edge back towards the door, "we can talk about this later! There's no time… Calixto still could free himself, and those skeletons…"

Serana cut her off, half cocking her head to one side and tightening her grip on Aelfwynn's hand as she spoke. "We're going to make time. Don't think you can use whatever crisis you can find to put this off any longer."

With a reluctant sigh, Aelfwynn fell back against the table beside her, as Serana released her hold, satisfied by the gesture. "Alright. But we don't have long. We need to finish this, make it right…"

"And we will, once you start explaining what's going on with you!" Serana pleaded. "Aelfwynn, we can't work together to stop my father if I can't understand…"

Serana paused for a moment, brushing a raven lock behind her ear thoughtfully as she pondered where to begin. "Your friend… Frieda. She said you made her, is that right?"

The mention of her progeny's name seemed to focus Aelfwynn's attention. "You talked about that? With Frieda?" She asked cautiously, clearly slightly uncomfortable at the subject.

"Yes." Serana replied, almost apologetically. "And strangely enough, I know more about her from one conversation than I do about you. Frankly you seem more…. Complicated, shall we say?"

Aelfwynn actually chuckled. "I wouldn't write Frieda off completely either Serana. She's got some 'complications' of her own."

Serana allowed the diversion. If Aelfwynn was beginning to open up to her about anything, well, it was a step in the right direction. "Go on," she invited.

"Frieda loves what she is. This power – its freedom to her. Every time she steps on someone it reminds her she's no longer vulnerable. Ironically though, she still is in a way."

"How do you mean?"

"She's… pretty disgusted by me at the moment. She thinks I've betrayed her and what I stood for. But she still seems to want… to need my approval on some level. My opinion still matters to her."

Serana's thoughts drifted towards her mother. "Yeah. I suppose girls often feel that way about their mothers."

Aelfwynn's voice rose to a roar. "Don't use that word!" The final syllables echoed throughout the contained, cavernous hall.

Serana froze in shock at the outburst. "Woah, sorry. I didn't realise… well I probably should have seen that coming. But, she still means a lot to you, doesn't she?"

Aelfwynn's pink eyes softened. "She does. There are moments, tiny moments really, where I see what she could be – when it seems I might get through to her. But Wynn taught her too well. She's my fault Serana."

Serana frowned in confusion, trying to come to understand Aelfwynn's mindset. "You feel some kind of guilt at making her immortal?"

"Of course I'm guilty Serana. I ripped her life away from her for myself – so I could look at her and just see a reflection."

"Aelfwynn, she told me the story. The way I see it, it wasn't much of a life… Looks to me like you just want to find ways to blame yourself… again."

There was silence for a moment. "This is what I don't understand about you." Serana began, spreading her hands. "You're a vampire. You were reborn into eternity – and you hate it. I've been around a while Aelfwynn, and never once have I met a vampire who despised themselves as much as you. Where I come from, this is a gift – the highest honour our master could bestow."

Aelfwynn exhaled softly. "It wasn't always like that."

Serana's mind passed over the various fleeting glances at Aelfwynn' past she had briefly caught a glimpse of. "So I've heard. Not sure if I believe it if I'm honest. So what _was_ it like?"

Aelfwynn's head slowly turned, eyes exploring the hall as she spoke.

"As I told you before, I woke up here – and everything was different. He caught me at my weakest moment, I was frustrated, I felt insignificant and unappreciated and… and I was lonely. He knew Serana. Somehow, he knew every doubt, every locked room of suppressed anger and pride I kept so well hidden.

And when I awoke – all of those fears came into sharp focus. I saw everything and it sickened me. I had been passed over, ignored and given away by all those I had ever tried to help. And I had been weak – but now there was strength, power flowing through me. So, my sire watched as I hunted them down, as I ripped families apart, as I terrorised little villages and made them fear the night. I killed, he laughed and I fed… It was like a feast that never ended!" Aelfwynn's eyes became alive as she spoke, as if suddenly recalling the intensity of the memory.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And then it did. It was like I had regained my sanity – or at least I was deafened to the madness. I fell out of my coffin, landing amongst the gore and bones of the previous night's banquet and I panicked. I just grabbed what I could find and ran. Until he found me again."

Serana started to wonder about this mysterious sire of Aelfwynn's. Yet seeing how she reacted at first around the topic of Frieda, she decided it was best if she came to tell her in her own time.

Aelfwynn shivered, as if hit by a freezing wind only she could feel. "So there you go. I've been trying to make amends ever since."

It sounded unbelievable. "Right. Wow. So, what do you think caused your umm… change?"

Aelfwynn pointed to her amulet. "I betrayed her. I broke all my oaths and desecrated the work I did in her name. Even before I was turned the seeds of what I would become were there. I lied to my matriarch – came to Skyrim because I thought it would be exciting, adventurous, romantic even. So in penance she returned something to me. She made me Aelfwynn again, just so I could see what I'd become. I'm not sure whether it's a chance to repent… or just to suffer for what I've done."

 _She thinks her goddess cursed her?_ Serana thought incredulously. _Oh boy… lets try to be gentle Serana…_

Serana spread her hands. "I'm not sure if I believe all that. But Isn't Mara supposed to be the goddess of compassion?"

Aelfwynn just sighed. "Compassion is for the living Serana."

Serana swallowed the sudden, irrational urge to slap some sense into her. "Then why did you save me? Then why has your goddess put us together – presumably?"

Aelfwynn had no response, and Serana didn't want to squander the opportunity to break through her occasionally thick skull. "Look, like I've said before – your little temple morality lessons? They haven't exactly left you with an open mind. There's nothing inherently evil about what we are Aelfwynn, but that being said – just because we're better than mortals doesn't mean we should go around torturing them for pleasure…"

"Better!?" Aelfwynn almost squeaked in outrage. "You think we're _better_ than mortals?"

"Of course," Serana began calmly, in the superior tone she knew infuriated Aelfwynn. "We're immortal, we see more, hear more – experience the world more. We live for centuries and contemplate the nature of everything – what can the 'diligent mortal scholar' say to the vampire that's been studying since the dawn of the age?"

Aelfwynn raised a finger as if about to retort, but every time she opened her mouth to speak she paused, before waiting a few seconds and trying again.

"So, back to the matter and hand…" Serana began, attempting to prevent the conversation from collapsing into a hopeless argument. "You were so determined to stop this Calixto because you thought he was how you used to be – a sadistic killer?"

Aelfwynn nodded. "You were right about me. On the road, what you said. I made it about myself – I couldn't control it and I fed on someone Serana, and this time I don't have the excuse of being offered or starvation. How can I even begin to make up for what I did if I can't even control my own demons?"

"I'm not really sure I have the answers you need Aelfwynn. But if you want to know what I think? I'm no expert on the subject, but if you want to show compassion or love for those you're trying to help, Frieda included – you might try and find some for yourself."

The combination of bewilderment and dismay in Aelfwynn's face told Serana all she needed to know.

"What have I got myself into…" Serana asked of no one in particular, before rising to her feet and placing a hand on Aelfwynn's wrist. "Come on then sister Aelfwynn" Serana began with self-mocking bravado, "We'd better inform the guards that we've caught ourselves a murderer."

* * *

Jorleif was understandably confused at Aelfwynn's declaration of Calixto's guilt, not to mention severely reluctant to accept Wuunferth was not in fact behind the killings. However, after a handful of guards were sent to investigate Hjerim, the steward seemed to put the pieces together soon enough. Aelfwynn explained the details of her little scheme involving Calixto's threat as they descended through the Palace towards the dungeons.

Along the right-hand wall, three carved bird heads scowled cruelly at the bars opposite, and two guards stood between them, coming to attention as the captain of the guard approached.

Inside the cramped, dark cell, Wuunferth the Unliving glared right back at his stone adversaries. His right-eye seemed to twitch every few seconds, from which Aelfwynn deduced he was quite clearly at the end of his patience.

"Well, well, well…" he scoffed as the guard turned the key stiffly in the lock, and the gate creaked open in protest. "Seems the wizard isn't to blame for the stream of murders eh? Be grateful boys, because if you ever did get me in so foul a mood, its likely you'd be first to go…"

Wuunferth strutted stiffly out of the cell, immediately starting up the corridor before pausing. He craned his head around slowly, fixing Aelfwynn with a twitching eye.

"Hmph. If you have time girl, come by my study before you leave. There's a few things that need to be said."

"Wow." Aelfwynn remarked in honest surprise, turning to look at Serana. "That's the closest to polite I've ever seen him."

"Pretty good of him," Serana pointed out. "Since you got him arrested and could well have got him executed for going on a killing spree and all…"

Well, there was no answer to that.

* * *

The candles in Wuunferth's study flickered awake as the old wizard pushed the door aside, as if they were guards who had been caught sleeping on duty. Wuunferth walked towards his chair, but did not sit. Instead he simply stood, facing away from his two guests, uncertainly caressing the back of his worn wooden chair with his hand.

"I was wrong about you," the old man said finally. "The trouble of being a scholar is, you like to organise things. They're either one thing or another – there is no uncertainty, only knowledge. But it hardly takes an expert to figure that things aren't always that simple. Just ask any wizard past the age of sixty about the 'Mysticism' school of magic if you don't believe me." He laughed softly. "I must admit, I didn't expect you to manage without me. Even if you did, I expected some scheme, some plot which appeared to be nothing more than the fears of an old man's mind. I'm… I'm sorry." It seemed to take a heroic effort on his part to utter the apology.

"I should be the one thanking you," Aelfwynn replied, her eyes softening. "Leaving the fate of your city in the hands of a vampire was an enormous risk. I'm glad I didn't completely let you down."

Silence hung in the air for a moment, both the vampire and the wizard avoiding direct eye contact. Wuunferth broke it first.

"Well, not that I want to disrupt this ever so tender moment, but does this mean you'll be out of my hair for a while? This city's difficult enough to keep from flying apart without outside assistance…"

"That's right," Serana began cynically. "We've got trouble for Aelfwynn here to find in Winterhold – hopefully she'll wait until after we visit the College."

Wuunferth's eyes lit up at that. "The college hmm? Excellent. If you don't mind the superstitions of the locals and the occasional detonation, it's a wonderful place to study. You know why?"

Aelfwynn was about to respond before the wizard carried on regardless.

"People know when to leave you alone! You can walk for days amongst the bookshelves and not a single soul will demand to know what you're doing. Bliss."

He paused for a moment. "Hmph. It's decided then – I'll send a letter ahead to the College, let them know you're coming. Because of the recent clashes with drunk morons, they won't just let anyone inside. It's not much, but it's the best I can do, so there. I'll be somewhat vague about the your 'natures'. But be warned ladies, your allure may fool the students, but the masters of magic will know you for what you are."

Aelfwynn smiled warmly at the old wizard, taking a step towards him. Wuunferth began to raise his arm defensively, but then lowered it back to his side. Aelfwynn's smile widened in surprise.

"You know, I was wrong too. You aren't a completely horrible old bear after all."

Wuunferth grunted. "Don't tell anyone that. I have a well-earned reputation to maintain vampire."

Then, to Wuunferth's astonishment, Aelfwynn rose up on her toes to plant a cold kiss against one of his weathered cheeks.

"Blessings of Mara upon you," She said with a small curtsey, before turning and walking out of the flabbergasted Wuunferth's life.

* * *

Eastmarch stirred in its sleep. A mist cloud, unable to settle amongst the unstable winds blew past Aelfwynn and Serana like an indifferent ghost, obscuring the skies above. Occasionally a snow fox would emerge from the amongst the snowdrifts, before taking a tentative drink from the almost completely frozen surface of the river, before darting out of sight once more.

Aelfwynn scowled at her water-stained map, trying to determine how far West they had travelled. After a few minutes of concern, a familiar bridge signalled that they couldn't be far from the northern turning towards Winterhold. She and Serana had made that decision fairly quickly, since neither of them had particularly desired to wander aimlessly in the boundless winter of the north-east, caught between immense snowdrifts and jagged sheets of frozen ocean, without hope of shelter.

The frozen trail snaked its way eccentrically past the black shelves of rock and snow-coated pines that furnished the nocturnal landscape, but just as Aelfwynn began to worry she had taken the wrong path, the cliffs reared up threateningly above them, jagged pillars with their summits lost deep within the low-hanging clouds. The two vampires walked in their shadow for a while, but soon enough the path reared to the right, and the narrow chasm of Wayward Pass reluctantly revealed itself. Great icicles longer than most stalactites hung from the edges of the boulders on both sides, their arrangement almost giving the impression of a gateway as the valley narrowed further towards the top. Behind them, brown fossils of climbing vegetation clung to the rock, almost as if it were holding up the entire structure.

"It's rather beautiful in its way," Serana offered softly. "Dramatic."

Aelfwynn nodded in agreement. Though she could not fault Serana's assessment, she sudenly felt tense, though she couldn't quite place the reason. The sounds of nature had faded away, and now only the faint singing of air rushing down the valley gently harmonised the silence.

It didn't take long for Aelfwynn to dismiss her misgivings, as the two vampires walked single-file along the snow-choked path. With every step, the College became closer, and with it – answers. Bolstered by Wuunferth's words, Aelfwynn dared to hope that she could finally learn how her curse might be lifted. She flashed her eyes guiltily at Serana, wading through the snow in front of her.

She wouldn't understand, Aelfwynn had no doubts about that. But in her heart she hoped Serana would respect her enough to honour her choice. Whilst these thoughts turned over and over in her mind, a strange sound suddenly cut through them like a knife. It took a moment for Aelfwynn to place the sound, and when she finally did her body froze. The hairs stood up on the back of her neck as the ground began to shake, and without a moment's pause Aelfwynn grabbed Serana by the hand, pulling her into a natural alcove in the rock, sheltered by a small outcropping above.

Just as she saw Serana forming an angry demand on her lips, Aelfwynn pressed her hand over the older vampire's mouth. A terrible roar ripped through the chasm, amplified hideously by the irregular angles of the surrounding rock walls. Aelfwynn closed her eyes in resignation, before mouthing a single word to Serana:

 _Dragon._

Serana's eyes widened fearfully in response, unconsciously gripping Aelfwynn's hand more tightly. The sounds of claws screaming against stone crept ever closer, as great plumes of dust fell into the chasm, before pebbles and small boulders began to follow, plummeting viciously to the ground before embedding themselves violently in the ground mere inches from where Aelfwynn and Serana hid.

The moonlit shadow of an enormous tail passed across the opposite cave wall, As the dragon scrambled about the cliff face, searching for its prey. With a furious cry, Aelfwynn felt the rush of air as the beast launched itself from the cliffs, its roars fading into distant thunder.

They remained perfectly still for several moments, huddled like children. After finally being certain the danger had passed, Serana awkwardly extricated herself from Aelfwynn, making a show of tidying her hair before brushing the dirt from her regal armour.

"Well, at least things are always interesting with you around…" Serana quipped dryly.

"Awful isn't it?" Aelfwynn agreed mirthfully, glad at Serana's attempt to break the tension. "It's hard to believe there was a time where I just had to listen and give advice…. No dragons, no murdering necromancers and no…. no vampires."

"No offense," Aelfwynn added quickly, raising her hands. Serana just raised an eyebrow.

"None taken… I think."

Aelfwynn suddenly felt a rather obvious question bubble to the surface. "Serana, have you always been like this? I mean were you always…"

"A vampire?" Serana finished, clearly understanding where she was going.

Aelfwynn wiped a stray lock of white hair from her brow. "Yeah. It's strange, I've never really thought to ask you."

"I bet, what with all the coming apart at the seams you've been doing…" Serana remarked, moving her hands behind her back. "That's… a long story."

Aelfwynn smiled. "It's a long walk."

Serana furrowed her brow pensively. "I guess... we kind of have to go way back. To the very beginning. I assume you know where vampirism came from?"

She even managed to make the question only slightly condescending. Aelfwynn shivered as the image of Harkon's profane shrine appeared in her mind. "Molag Bal."

"Exactly! The first vampire came from Molag Bal. She..." Serana turned away for a moment before continuing. "She was not a willing subject. But she was still the first. Molag Bal is a powerful Daedric lord, and his will is made reality. For those willing to subjugate themselves, he will still bestow the gift, but they must be powerful in their own right before earning his trust."

Aelfwynn's curiosity was piqued. "How did it happen? Is it the same as the rest of us were turned?"

Serana shook her head. "No, at least I don't think so. The ceremony was... degrading. Let's not revisit that. But we all took part in it. Not really wholesome family activity, but I guess it's something you do when you give yourselves to a Daedric lord."

"Do you regret it Serana?"

Serana frowned, casting her eyes to the ground. "Nobody's ever asked me that before. I... I don't know. No, I think... mostly I hate what it's done to my family."

"How did it affect them? I can't imagine a whole family being turned at once…"

"Well, you've met most of us. My father's not exactly the most stable, and eventually he drove my mother crazy with him. And it all ended with me being locked underground for who knows how long." Serana sighed wistfully. "It's definitely been a bad thing, on the whole."

Aelfwynn began to notice something in the way Serana told her story, a question gnawing away at her as she listened. "Serana… Were you given a choice in any of this?"

Serana's head snapped around to face her. "What?"

"Serana, it looks like your mother and father have just been making these decisions for you from the start, I mean did they ever give you a choice in any of it? To become a vampire, to lock yourself away…"

Serana stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes clearly injured. "Aelfwynn - I'm not sure it's really your place to judge me. To judge us. My family has its problems, but they're our problems. Let's just... move on from here, okay?" With that, Serana turned and stormed ahead.

Just before she vanished into the missed, Aelfwynn couldn't stop herself from calling out. "Have you never thought about curing yourself?!"

Slowly, Serana turned around, and slowly began to walk back towards her companion.

"I wondered where this was going…" She began coldly, placing her hands on her hips. "A cure!? Even if that were possible, why even think of it that way? I can't think of any reason I'd want to lose my gift. Especially… especially after what I did to get it. It may have driven my family apart, but I'm still here, and I'm alive. I won't give this up. Let's not talk about this again."

The mood remained as icy as the surroundings. The cliffs finally gave way to the open snowscape, stretching in all directions as far as the eye could see – not saying much perhaps, as the mist continued to thwart any attempt to see any further than twenty metres in any direction. Only the occasional fossil of a sapling burst out from the suffocating blanket, breaking the blinding monotony of white. Yet as Aelfwynn and Serana emerged from out of the chasm's protection, a guttural roar of satisfaction bombarded them from above, punctuated by a torrent of flame.

Serana and Aelfwynn dived into the snow on opposite sides, frantically avoiding the greedy inferno. In the space of a single moment a great swathe of the snow was incinerated, leaving a charred path of devastation in its place. After casting aside the involuntary freeze enforced by primal terror, Aelfwynn rose unsteadily to her feet, sinking slightly into the frozen slush as she did so. Without a further thought she raised a rippling ward of magic, just before the beast, having realised its prey still lived, let loose another river of flame. It took every fibre of Aelfwynn's concentration to hold the phenomenal energy of the attack at bay. Even through the magical barrier the vampire could feel her skin beginning to peel and burn, sending pulses of agony through her hands.

 _Just a few moments longer._

As soon as Aelfwynn felt the immense pressure die away against the ward, leaving her invisible in the cloud of choking smoke, she knew what to do. Drawing on the reserves of human blood which freshly coursed through her veins, imbued with the magical power of her last victim, Aelfwynn summoned the ball of blinding sunlight between her already scorched hands, releasing it precisely a few inches above where the breath of fire had emerged. For a fraction of a moment Aelfwynn was desperately afraid she'd miss, but the grating bestial scream which emerged from the smoke, quickly dissolving from the agonised lashings of the beast's head and wings confirmed the Wyrm's blinding.

But this time there was no Dragonborn to run the monster through.

Aelfwynn ran to Serana, finding her staring in half-disbelieving shock at the now revealed creature which had perversely stalked the creatures of the night.

"We need to run. Now!" Aelfwynn ordered in a louder voice than intended, causing the Dragon's head to move in their direction. Serana didn't even take the opportunity for a choice remark, stunned into silence by the ancient legend becoming reality before her eyes.

Looking behind her as she ran, Aelfwynn saw her opponent clearly for the first time, just before it vanished into the mist. The dragon was far more lithe than the vast, dark creature which had descended on Whiterun hold, its neck long and twisting like that of a serpent, all mottled in crystalline emerald scales. The blind dragon thrashed forwards through the snow, the excitement of the hunt replaced by a consuming need for violent vengeance.

At times, Aelfwynn thought she saw spires ahead of them, but could not tell if they were real, or merely a spell cast by the sinister blindness.

The sounds of the dragon seemed to be everywhere at once, a scuffling from the left, crunching snow on the right – and the beasts continuing cries bounced back at them from ahead – causing Aelfwynn to fight every instinct to run in the opposite direction. Her concentration failed her however, when she failed to notice her right foot land on only air.

* * *

Neither Frieda or Florentius spoke as the scorched wooden gate swung open. Helgen had buried itself in rubble and fire, and now only the blackened walls revealed that this had once been a place of any importance. Even now, charred bodies were strewn across the wrecked streets, their bodies petrified by the intense heat. As a result, it seemed as if every man, woman and child had been frozen in a moment of utter horror.

Frieda would never admit how much it disturbed her.

She had seen decimated villages before, came with the territory when hunting with Morcar and Wynn – but this was different. Frieda was aware of course that dragons had returned to Skyrim, rumour confirmed by the insights Wynn…. No, the insights this ' _Aelfwynn'_ had given her in Dimhollow Crypt. But no flashing mental visions could prepare her for the devastation first hand. Frieda felt akin to how a lone wolf might feel, forced to pass near the den of a cave bear.

Frieda was still coming to terms with that. A part of her thought that the shell of her former sire simply wasn't worth the effort, her weakness and dejection was nothing less than a sad insult to her own legacy. But Frieda couldn't quite believe it. Eternal lust for life seemed a little less sweet without Wynn in it.

And there were moments. Small moments. Moments when she thought she caught a glimpse of Wynn emerging from beneath the surface. Amongst the migraine of sifting through Aelfwynn's memories, Frieda had sensed the hunger that still ruled her, deep down. Hints of the forbidden desires she worked to suppress. Better still, the Volkihar gossip after their arrival at the castle had confirmed that Wynn had managed to trick Lord Harkon into thinking Frieda and her were throwing Morcar under the carriage for a chance at power. It had struck Frieda as a genius ploy – whichever way the wind ended up blowing, they'd be on the winning side. And they'd be there together.

Frieda shook her head, ordering the thoughts from her mind.

"Glad to see you agree vampire. Arkay does too"

Frieda stared at Florentius blankly, causing his stolid expression to waiver somewhat towards disappointment.

"I said this cannot be allowed to continue. It appears your kind are not the greatest threat to this land after all. At least, not the only one."

Frieda sneered, letting out a small laugh at the absurdity of his insinuation. "Please, don't tell me your suggesting what I think you are…"

The pious expression which Florentius proceeded to don made Frieda want to bite him more than usual.

"May I remind you little priest – that between you, me and what did this…" She spread her arms grandiosely. "You're on the bottom of the food chain. Every instinct I've got says leave – clearly yours are too dull to know the same…"

To Frieda's annoyance, the priest merely smiled. "If you're half the cunning predator you claim – what do you have to fear from a mere beast?" He asked, his voice mocking yet serious concurrently.

"I don't know if you noticed Florentius, but I'm a little more flammable than you are."

Florentius raised a hand to his tanned face, stroking his beard elegantly. "Exactly. Everything has a weakness, Frieda. Only possibly the gods are exempt. To be honest Arkay's been terribly quiet on that score."

The vampire just narrowed her eyes. "You're completely deranged – you know that right?"

Frieda didn't like the look the priest gave her, as he rose from one knee beside one of the desiccated corpses.

"We'll see." Florentius stated ambiguously, before purposefully striding towards the western gate.


	36. Chapter 36: Buried

_Author's Note: Since this chapter is shorter than most, I've uploaded the next one concurrently. Thanks to everyone who's stuck with the story thus far, and welcome to those of you who have recently followed and favourited the story. I hope you enjoy, and feel free to leave any reviews, knowing you guys are engaging with the story really makes it all worthwhile!_

Chapter 36: Buried

Once again, Aelfwynn fell.

For a fraction of a moment, she almost expected Lake Honrich to swallow her again, to reclaim her for an eternity of madness and slow decay. Paralyzed by this terror, she failed to let go of Serana's hand before pulling the older vampire inexorably over the edge behind her. Aelfwynn barely caught sight of the wooden planks which rapidly appeared below her before she smacked into them, barely managing to shield her face with her arm and pull her knees up to her chest. Serana collapsed beside her, pulling herself to her feet far more rapidly than Aelfwynn could manage. Shaking her head clear, Aelfwynn realised that their fall had been swiftly broken by landing atop a rope bridge, suspended above the fog-obscured distance below.

Serana pulled her to her feet, the rickety bridge swaying and groaning apprehensively as she did so. Not far above them, the agonised roar returned – the blinded dragon reacting to the sound of its offensive prey.

Serana turned purposefully to Aelfwynn. "There's another bridge down there – come on!"

The two vampires threw themselves off the side of the bridge, merely moments before it was engulfed in flames, splintering as it burned and began to collapse into the void below.

The two vampires landed far better this time. Spurred on by the immediate threat, Aelfwynn quickly searched for any avenue of escape. On seeing the bridge ahead of them vanish into the cliffside past an odd, apparently carved pillar, she made a snap decision.

"This way!" Aelfwynn called out to Serana, as she sprinted past the strange pillar, vanishing into the tunnel.

Suddenly, the ground shook violently. Aelfwynn span around to see the Dragon had crushed the rope bridge, embedding its talons into the icy rock face. It's head moved in several darting motions, sniffing the air and pressing the side of its head to the rock. For a moment, Aelfwynn thought it had lost their trail, but as soon as the beast's maw found the crevice in the rock it let loose another torrent of flame. Aelfwynn and Serana threw themselves to the ground behind a turn in the cave path. The roar of the dragon was deafening, but to undead ears it was soul-tearing. For several seconds Aelfwynn could hear nothing but the dull ringing – but then she heard the crack.

It sounded as if a boulder were ripping in two, and then the cave went dark.

* * *

The walls were ice. Frozen fangs hung in frequent bunches on the ceiling, and a thin frost blanket delicately coated the cave floor. It took Aelfwynn's eyes a few moments to adapt to the darkness, but now her night-vision was clear – in shades of subtle colour she could never have conceived before her siring.

Serana walked toward the entry passage, wiping the dust from her regal armour as she did so.

"Great. Just great. I'm sealed underground… again!"

Aelfwynn followed her cautiously. From what she could make out, the strange pillar had collapsed under the intense heat of the dragon's flames, causing the tunnel entrance to fall in on itself.

"Well..." Aelfwynn began, gesturing towards the collapse, "at least the dragon is on the other side. Trust me – we had a lucky escape. I've seen what those creatures can do."

Serana turned to her then, fixing Aelfwynn with an oddly cold stare.

"Right." she uttered blandly, before beginning to wind her way deeper into the cave.

It was clear to Aelfwynn that Serana hadn't forgiven her mention of seeking a cure. Aelfwynn had hoped that if eventually she was forced to reveal her own intentions in that regard, Serana might at least respect her choice. Now she had profound doubts on the matter.

Serana wasn't like Harkon, Morcar or Frieda. She didn't seem to revel in her monstrous nature – yet that nature seemed desperately important to her at the same time. It was her 'gift'.

 _Maybe she's been undead so long she's frightened of being alive_ , Aelfwynn thought, recalling Serana's fear of the mortal threat to her and her kind.

As they descended deeper into the cave, it became more and more apparent they were not the first visitors. Various eclectic objects were liberally strewn about the tunnel, cluttering the floor and adorning the walls. Aelfwynn passed the old wooden barrels, scratched and beaten by age and misuse with rusted lanterns pointlessly adorning them, curiously observing the rotting wooden supports that were seemingly meant to block off some of the smaller passages.

All of a sudden Serana stopped ahead of her, holding up a hand to demand silence. As she did so, an echoed, seemingly desperate voice emerged from behind one of the ailing wooden boards leaning pointlessly against a half-collapsed side passage.

"Where is it? I know you are trying to keep it for yourself, J'zhar... You always try to keep it for yourself! No! There's got to be more Skooma... Shut up! Shut up! Don't lie to me, J'zhar! You hid it! You always try to hide it from me!"

The warmly accented voice seemed obviously Khajiit, Aelfwynn thought to herself, a male apparently suffering from withdrawl. She had far more experience with the dependencies of the destitute addicts of Daggerfall and later Skyrim than she would like, in some places they ended up on the temple slabs more often than soldiers.

It was like vampirism, in a way. The need for the substance was always with you, only muted by regular indulgence. The longer you went without it, the more your mind would warp, until nothing else mattered. The Problem was, even if you regularly consumed it, eventually you became blind to how it was burning your life down all around you. In time all that would be left to you was the drug.

In assisting addicts – there was no easy route. Herbs were no use – introducing new substances into the body to try and ease the suffering was merely shifting the dependency, drawing out the process. Magic was problematic for its own reasons – restoration healed the body, perhaps it could repair some of the damage skooma had wrought, but ultimately it couldn't cure the root of the problem no more than it could cure insanity.

After hearing his fevered footsteps fade, Aelfwynn turned back to Serana.

"Tread carefully," she began softly. "Addicts in that state tend to be a little hard to reason with."

"To be perfectly honest, I'm not feeling too reasonable myself. Being nearly turned to ash will do that to a girl. Come on." Serana retorted dryly, indicating to Aelfwynn to follow before striding deeper into the cave.

The omnipresence of clutter continued, and to Aelfwynn's surprise the passage began to widen further. She even saw upturned handcarts next to strangely carved stones stacked in piles, and now the ceiling was clearly being supported by large wooden beams at right angles.

When the passage opened out into a small chamber, Aelfwynn came sharply to a halt, feeling her foot kick something unusual in the layers of crystalline frost. Kneeling down to brush them aside, she found a lute. Pulling it out of the snow, it seemed to be in remarkably fine condition – considering the damp and cold conditions where she found it. Curiously, she brushed her finger tip across the strings, sending a discordant, detuned refrain bouncing off the nearby walls. Aelfwynn leaned the instrument gently against the nearest wall as she gazed around the rest of the chamber.

In the centre of the cave sat a fireplace, surrounded by round stones and still filled with charred logs burned cold. Rusty cooking pots lay strewn about, and amongst them – a skeleton. The bones appeared to have been skattered about, the ribcage in one place, the hands a few feet away. Most disturbing of all was the skull which seemed to be lying inside one of the upturned pots.

If this was some sort of excavation – something must have gone horribly wrong.

"Our Khajiit friend?" Serana inquired.

"Somehow I doubt it. Corpses like this don't just rot overnight…"

"You don't say?" Serana asked sarcastically.

Aelfwynn ignored it. "But there's something else strange here."

"hmm?"

"The floor's covered in frost – It should have preserved the body for even longer."

"So… what?" Serana asked.

After a few moments looking puzzled, Serana's eyes fell on the skull sitting neatly inside the lop-sided cooking pot.

"You're not saying what I think you're saying, right?"

Before Aelfwynn could do more than part her lips, the sound of heavy, clumsy footfalls crushing frost rapidly approached, alongside the sound of rasping whispers.

"What? Who is this, brother? Another of the smooth-skins looking for food? But these ones weren't trapped with us..."

Aelfwynn noticed the woodcutting axe twitching wildly in his left hand, the blade hanging mere inches from the ground. Small drops of blood fell from its edge, soaking into the ground like scarlet tears.

She held up her hands placatingly, trying to force herself to smile.

"It's alright," Aelfwynn said softly. "We just want to help you. Please, just put the axe away, okay?"

The cat's eyes were wide, but unseeing. They darted around the room frantically, barely focusing on Aelfwynn and Serana at all. Aelfwynn knew at once he was in a dangerous phase of withdrawal.

She approached him slowly, keeping her hands clearly in front of her.

"You won't take us! Not like the others J'zhar, I won't let them!"

The Kha'jiit took the axe in both hands and began to swing, but as Aelfwynn prepared to dodge – Serana was already there. She grabbed the handle of the weapon mid-arc, as though she were confiscating a toy from a misbehaving child. The Kha'jiit began to flail madly with his claws, but Serana merely grabbed his wrists, pulled him towards her and sank her fangs into his neck.

"Serana don't!" Aelfwynn called out, as the attacker's body first continued to flail, then spasm, before fading into utter stillness and silence. Serana let the body fall, meeting the frost with a dull thump. Aelfwynn knelt next to the body, but she knew he was already gone.

"Why would you… why did you have to do that? Couldn't you see he wasn't himself? You just ended his life like it was nothing!"

Serana wiped her bloodied mouth with her hand, her face contorted in exasperation.

"Why did I? He was going to kill you Aelfwynn! From the look of that axe you wouldn't have been the first either…."

Aelfwynn opened her mouth to interrupt, but Serana wasn't backing down.

"Look, I did you the courtesy of waiting until we were out of Windhelm before feeding, despite the thirst. Have you forgotten what that sick freak in Hjerim did to me? Drained my blood drop by drop, ever so slowly. A few more hours and I'd have ended up a desiccated corpse – and there's a hell of a lot I couldn't get back from his little alchemy set. So forgive me for thinking that some mad, drug-addled mortal in a cave might be more acceptable to your moralising!"

"Serana, as a vampire you should at least have a little compassion for what he was going through…"

"Exactly! I'm a vampire Aelfwynn. A vampire! Whether you like it or not, I drink blood. Mortal blood. I've been pretty understanding of your 'issues' when it comes to feeding, and your absurd, self-destructive guilt – but don't you dare think you can start projecting it onto me!"

It was like a door closed in Aelfwynn's mind. Serana was right – despite her manner, despite her occasional shows of compassion – she was still the enemy. She fed and killed without the slightest show of remorse, she was completely unapologetic about her nature. Aelfwynn knew in that moment that although she needed Serana to defeat Harkon, some day her time would have to come. Whatever her feelings toward her were.

 _Mara give me strength,_ Aelfwynn thought, swallowing the emotions threatening to consume her.

* * *

Aelfwynn had been mercifully silent since Serana had given her a piece of her mind. Still, it somehow made her uneasy. She would never let it show, but she felt a twinge of guilt gnawing away at the corner of her mind.

Serana hadn't wanted to upset her strange companion. For all Aelfwynn's flaws Serana had quite a bit of sympathy for what she'd been through – a lifetime of religious dogma before being forced into becoming a creature of the night, small wonder the poor girl hadn't gone completely insane as it was. Serana had taken months, even years to properly prepare herself for the change – from what Aelfwynn had said, she had just been seized in an alley.

But it had needed to be said. For them to have any chance of stopping her father, there needed to be mutual respect between them. Serana had tolerated a lot of Aelfwynn personal idiosyncrasies – it was time for her to realise it wasn't a one-way thing.

The cavern transformed back into a smaller passage of ice, which before long began to slope downwards. Taking a good deal of effort to prevent herself slipping headlong into wherever the tunnel was leading, Serana kept her eyes on the cave floor. Finally nearing the bottom, Serana looked up at what lay in front of her. The ice had clearly been carved away, and a grey stone doorway had been mostly revealed. On either sides of the opening, pillars of stone were ornately carved, much like the one Serana had briefly caught sight of as she and Aelfwynn had sprinted inside the cave.

"Never seen Dwemer architecture before?" Serana asked, seeing Aelfwynn approach one of the pillars and run a pale hand over the carved surface.

"Never had much time for sightseeing," Aelfwynn replied, moving through the doorway and into the corridor beyond. "Never had much time for anything really, the war saw to that. Speaking of which, I thought you said you rarely left the island?"

"I did. But my mother's research covered the dwemer a few times over the centuries. Trinkets, rods, odd pieces of metal, even lumps of rock. I think she wanted to know if dwemer metal had any inherently magical qualities, that helped explain some of the weird constructs that her books showed wandering around their cities."

"Your mother was a mage?" Aelfwynn asked curiously.

"Yeah. Though Necromancy was her real passion, she knew the dwemer used soul gems in their…"

Serana stopped mid-sentence, seeing the scathing disapproval in Aelfwynn's expression.

"Oh. Right. You priests probably don't look too kindly on necromancers huh?"

"Serana, do I need to remind you what happened back in Windhelm?!" Aelfwynn responded angrily. "Calixto violated you and several others. 'Don't look too kindly' is an understatement."

"Once again…" Serana began wearily. "You're young. That's like saying everyone who carries a sword is a murderer. It doesn't matter what tools you have Aelfwynn, its what you choose to do with them. You'd be surprised how many medical discoveries have come about through an understanding of the body only a necromancer could grasp. After all – don't you and a necromancer have the same goal, pushing back death?"

Serana could see Aelfwynn uncomfortably dealing with her logic. "I've heard stories. About what necromancers do with mortal souls. I'm not saying resurrecting a body from the dead is immediately evil, I'm not. But when you start messing with someone's soul? That's where I have to draw the line."

Serana hadn't really thought of it like that. She'd seen so many soul gems dotted around her mother's study they had just become commonplace. They were just a tool, an energy source. They weren't aware… were they?

* * *

Aelfwynn had never seen anything like it. The floor was polished stone, despite presumably thousands of years of being abandoned to time. Along the ceiling thick brass pipes twisted and turned, vanishing into the walls to who knows where. Behind the walls, she thought she could hear a myriad of alien sounds, clicking, humming and cranking all at once. The Dwemer may have been long dead, but this place still somehow lived. As Aelfwynn walked the length of the strange corridor, she was met by row after row of seemingly identical pillars, each carved with the image of what appeared to be a bearded face, appraising her ominously.

As they continued to traverse the corridor, it was as though the dwarven structure was gradually freeing itself from the ice, the translucent stalagtites hanging from above appeared in smaller and smaller groups and even the snow and slush piled against the walls appeared to dissipate.

At one point, they passed the body of another Kha'jiit, sprawled atop a worn, brown bedroll. Kneeling down to examine him, Aelfwynn found his throat had been slit viciously. Oddly, it was not a single clean cut, but jagged and uneven.

"The work of our friend back there?" Serana asked, gesturing behind her.

Aelfwynn tried to repress the revulsion she still felt over the murder, as well as the cloying, nauseous scent of long-dead blood. She ran a finger along the wound.

"It's pretty hard to slit someone's throat with an axe Serana…" Aelfwynn pointed out, exploring the corpse's pockets to try and find any clue to what happened.

"But, not impossible." Serana added

Aelfwynn's hand settled on a rectangular object inside the Kha'jiit's pocket. She pulled out what appeared to be a small, leather-bound journal. The book seemed frozen shut, but Aelfwynn managed to pull it open with a sticking snap. She flipped through to what seemed like the latest entry:

 _This one is at his wit's end. I signed J'darr and myself up for this expedition to try to get him clean of the Skooma. I brought a small supply to try and bring him down slowly, but the storm has had us trapped in the glacier for weeks._

 _The others have not yet caught on that one with fur should not shake so much from the cold, but I've run out of the little skooma I brought and J'darr is getting pretty bad. He's started hallucinating creatures coming out of the ice and the ruins, the others are starting to think he may be behind Valie's disappearance, but I know he would never do something like that._

"Care to fill me in?" Serana asked, looking towards Aelfwynn expectantly. Aelfwynn threw her the journal.

"By the Daedra…" Serana swore nauseously. "He killed his own brother? Sorry Aelfwynn, seems there was no reasoning with that one."

Aelfwynn looked back to the Kha'jiit's wound. It didn't add up. The neck appeared to have been sliced by a long, irregularly shaped blade, or if not by something Aelfwynn had never seen before.

"Keep your eyes open Serana. There's something wrong about all this…"

Serana crossed her arms. "You mean apart from the dragon, being sealed inside a cave which happens to also hold a Dwemer ruin and fighting homicidal drug addicts? You know Aelfwynn, you might just be onto something there…."

Aelfwynn dug her fangs into her bottom lip, trying not to say something she'd come to regret later. She dropped her satchel to the floor for a moment, tucking her amulet inside her robe before she pulled it over her head, revealing the sleek black vampire armour underneath. After neatly folding her robe and hastily stuffing it inside her battered satchel, she caught Serana's expression of baffled amusement on the corner of her eye.

"You ever tried to sneak around in temple robes?" Aelfwynn asked defensively.

"Hey, I wasn't going to say anything," Serana promised, a smug smile lighting up her face. "If you want my opinion? Suits you better anyway."

Aelfwynn tried to ignore that particular comment. Taking a moment to gather herself, she pulled on the matching clawed gauntlets, before becoming one with the shadows.


	37. Chapter 37: Falkreath

Chapter 37: Falkreath

The rain refused to fall on Falkreath, which made Frieda uneasy. In her mind Falkreath was always drowning amongst the cacophony of a thousand shards of water shattering against stone and wood, the barking of hungry dogs and the laughter of the townsfolk who left her out in the cold.

Just as it was that terrible night, before Wynn's kiss released her.

Frieda and Florentius passed beneath the old stone archway marking the town's entrance, the guards giving way with a curt nod and an almost unconscious step back once the priest displayed his amulet and stated his identity. Frieda had observed that the people of Skyrim seemed to maintain a healthy fear for these 'Vigilants of Stendarr' – or at least, what was left of them. It wasn't too distinct from their attitudes towards vampires, however these zealots generally weren't attacked on sight. It seemed these killers had managed to convince the cowering peasants that they were benevolent.

Frieda tried to appear as if seeing her home town again meant nothing to her, but she couldn't help casting an eye towards Dead Man's Drink, the smithy and the other familiar sights, all imposing themselves unbidden on her thoughts. Frieda was aware that Florentius appeared to be watching her, small glances when he undoubtedly thought her attention was only one dimensional.

Normally Frieda wouldn't be bothered by this – to the contrary, tormenting the man with the occasional brush past, or holding her face close to his when talking had given her much pleasure over the past days. She was certain he would break eventually. But this time… it was like he was observing her reactions. Frieda already had her suspicions.

"Remind me then priest, why we had to bother coming back to this dung heap?" Frieda asked acidly.

"Because the road leads this way Frieda," he began, showing enough lenience towards her at least not to publicly refer to her as 'vampire'. "Not to mention it seems likely that our Moth Priest would have stayed the night, Falkreath is the closest settlement to Pale Pass, or at least the only one that's still standing, and clearly in Imperial territory."

"Right. Sure." She replied with a pout. Shortly after departing Helgen, the two travellers had heard from an imperial patrol that Pale Pass, the gateway to Cyrodiil, had been buried in an avalanche. Personally, Frieda found the whole thing slightly suspicious – considering the waves of crises afflicting Skyrim. As for who could have been behind it… well the list of possibilities was too long to bother thinking about,

"Of course, Arkay wouldn't be content if I neglected to visit his temple while I'm here." Florentius continued.

Frieda just rolled her eyes. "Whatever makes you and your delusions happy priest. As long as we leave well before sunrise."

Florentius stared at her directly for a moment, a strange look in his dark eyes. "You won't burn in the morning to come Frieda. I can promise you that."

Frieda felt the oddest urge to shiver.

As they turned down a street Frieda would have given anything to avoid, she caught a scent she had thought long forgotten. A young woman, clad in a simple green dress with curly waves of brown hair perpetually falling into her face stepped out from behind the front door, locking it. She looked tired. Frieda watched as her former sister turned away, looking nervously in both directions before striding back towards the tavern road. Frieda turned away, pulling her travel cloak over her head as confused emotions flooded over her. Iliana's blood still sang to her, but the familiarity of it seemed wrong somehow. Though her blood had mixed with her new kin, she still felt a bond with her former sister – years of hardship shared. But she never came after Frieda was cast into the streets – kept under father's thumb no doubt.

A thought crossed her mind then, growing as she mulled it over. She could turn her – give her the freedom Frieda had enjoyed these past months. She could bring her into the family. Perhaps this homecoming might be worthwhile after all.

Florentius noticed her odd behaviour of course, but Frieda was grateful he had the wisdom – or the fear - not to inquire further. She was glad to see that he had learned how to keep his throat from being torn out, for the moment at least.

Frieda took the lead from Florentius once they reached the edge of the graveyard, almost unconsciously drawn to a particular hollow below a small ridge.

"This is where I was reborn" Frieda whispered reverently, in answer to her companion's silent questioning as she placed a hand on the earth.

Florentius shook his head solemnly. "Where you died vampire. Where your soul was stolen from Arkay's embrace."

Frieda stood, gracefully spinning to face him with a smug grin. "Lucky for me someone else embraced me, and she was far more alluring, trust me."

Florentius merely turned away from her without another word, before disappearing behind the creaking door into the temple.

Frieda's thoughts lost her for a while, drifting through times past and present. Mutual interest had kept Frieda from leaving the priest to his mad quests thus far. Shortly after the slaughter at Mara's Eye Den, they had both agreed that finding this Moth Priest seemed to be the key in throwing a spanner into Harkon's works. Florentius' past as a vigilant meant the mortals were far more likely to answer his inquiries, and his not inconsiderable power was just a bonus. Either they would reach the Moth Priest first and Frieda would kill him, ending or at least delaying Harkon's plans right there, or Harkon's lackeys would get there first and she could use Florentius to barter her way back into Harkon's good graces. If he has any that is. One of the last Vigilants may well be enough to smooth over the more…. awkward details of what happened to Fura and her former coven. Either way – her future was secured. Whether Florentius lived or died depended on him finding the priest in time.

Suddenly, a bright light and an unnatural, resonant hum imposed upon her heightened senses. Frieda froze for a moment as an almost liquid, transparent wall of force rose around her on all sides. Reacting like an ensnared beast, she instinctually threw all of her vampiric strength against it.

Frieda cried out as the ward scorched her claws and shoulder. It felt as though she were slashing at the sun itself, the pain forcing her to fall back to the ground with a thud.

Through the barrier, she saw the grim-faced Florentius, one arm outstretched, channelling florescent magical energies, whilst the other grasped a strange, dark crystal. Behind him, a figure Frieda recognised as Runil, the aged Altmer priest of Arkay stood, his eyes widening at the sheer power unfolding before him.

The beast in Frieda hissed acidly at the betrayal, exposing her fangs in a predatory grimace.

Unphased, Florentius began to speak:

"I call on Arkay, one spirit among our greatest ancestors, he who guards the portal between life and death! Accept my offering, and cleanse the demon's blood from this woman – purify her in your image!"

Frieda screamed.

It felt like every vein in her body was burning, scorched by a fire she couldn't see. She ripped off her gauntlets, beginning to tear at her own flesh in a vain attempt to quell the agony. It lasted for what seemed like an eternity before beginning to fade. Frieda fell to the ground writhing, the magical ward falling with her.

The crystal in Florentius' hand shattered.

Frieda inhaled forcefully, shocked at the unfamiliar reflex, before immediately needing to exhale the air from her suddenly demanding lungs. It happened again and again, before she felt a terrifying thumping deep within her chest. Frieda ran her hands over her face, over her unseeing eyes and her blunted teeth, beginning to tremble as the realisation of what Florentius had done sunk in. She clasped her hands to her breast, as if desperately trying to stop the constant beating, to reverse what this insignificant man had dared to do to her. Her heart beat on, indifferent.

Filled with unholy fury, Frieda lashed out wildly at the tombstones all around her, failing to smash through one with her boot before recoiling in agony as her fist faltered against another. Frieda stared unbelieving at the mortal blood dripping from her battered knuckles, as tears of shock, pain and betrayal began to rain in Falkreath.

Her heart continued to thunder in her ears – the peace within her shattered by the promise of weakness and mortality. She'd thought Florentius a fool. She'd let her guard down, let him lead her to the place she was most vulnerable. And it had cost her everything.

As the two priests left her alone, weeping and pleading, rain began to fall on Falkreath once more.


	38. Chapter 38: Ghosts and Portents

Chapter 38: Ghosts and Portents

The light was dying over Morthal. Blue skies gave way to red as the sun set, and the first of the stars began to pierce the veil of day.

Morthal was unlike many of the other hold Capitals. Whilst Whiterun, Solitude and Windhelm could all boast great natural and man-made defences, Morthal had no such comforts. The town stood alone amongst the marshes, and in the evening all the patrolling guards, clad in their green cuirasses and archaic horned helms could do was stare out into the darkening wilderness, creeping towards them like a shroud, and hope it wouldn't consume them.

But the war had not reached Morthal – at least, not yet.

Jon knew little about Hjaalmarch. The only time he had the fortune to travel to Solitude in the past, along with his father and Alfhild, he had taken the road west to Rorikstead, before taking the Northern road via Dragon Bridge. To the eyes of a boy staring in wonder from a swaying carriage, the great marshes had still seemed impossibly far away. But this time, Jon felt the need to find his own route. Make no mistake, travelling through the pass of Labyrinthian was no safe bet – but luckily Jon had learned enough about the habits of trolls - even their dreaded snowback cousins - from Gunmar to pass through without too much trouble.

He had left his horse behind at the farm with Alfhild. Whilst the advantages of faster travel and a great deal of additional carry-space were not inconsiderable, it was a horse paid for and looked after with Battle-Born gold. Gold he no longer had any interest in. He had sent a letter to Isran before leaving, informing him that it would be some time before his return to Fort Dawnguard. He had little doubt Isran wouldn't be pleased, or rather even less pleased than usual, but it was as he had told Agmaer on the day of their arrival: He hadn't joined the army. He had the right to strike out on his own.

He still wore his brown Dawnguard armour, though now the tuning pins of his lute could be seen sticking out of the rough hide rucksack he wore on his back. Between them, a green, non-descript cloak formed a barrier against the chill.

Alongside the town road, sparse purple flowers still struggled to rise out of the frozen ground, alongside the petrified skeletons of bushes. On the left, snow coated pines were dotted evenly around what Jon assumed to be the Jarl's hall, since it clearly dwarfed any of the surrounding buildings. To the right, a long, wooden walkway stretched out along the bank of the marsh-water, leading to what appeared to be the majority of the town's residences.

Soon enough, Jon caught sight of the hanging sign which universally signalled the presence of an inn. The sign swayed gently in the Frostfall breeze, creaking as the half-moon it depicted scowled in agreement.

As Jon turned left onto another raised wooden street, his eye was immediately drawn towards the far end. The ruins of a house faced him, its wooden walls charred and snapped. In the absence of a door, Jon could see snow piled up on the floor, even choking the exposed fireplace. That sight in particular struck a chord of melancholy in his heart.

Intrigued, Jon turned up the small flight of stairs leading up to the tavern and pushed open the door. A small bell chimed as it swung open, and in response the Redguard woman who appeared to be tending the bar lifted her head from her hand and opened her eyes in honest surprise. Apart from her, and an Orc who appeared to be irregularly thumping a small drum in the opposite corner, the tavern appeared completely empty.

"Welcome to the Moorside Inn!" The barkeep called out warmly. "Glad to _finally_ have a customer..."

Jon smiled at that, removing his rucksack and walking over to lean it against the bar, before occupying the nearest stool. "Business slow today, eh?"

"Slow? No, it just ain't there at all. Few enough reasons to pass through Morthal before the war started. Now... Well, let's just say the front door doesn't get much use."

She quickly poured a foaming tankard from a nearby keg, before sliding it across the bar towards Jon. "Tell you what, you buy a room for the night, and this one's on the house"

"You've got a deal there."

Jon lifted the tankard to his lips, and took a deep swig, washing the road from his dry throat before bringing it back down with a satisfied thump.

"Not bad. Not bad at all" Jon congratulated.

"Glad you think so. So, got a name?"

"Jon. How about you?"

The bartender smirked. "You mean do I have a name?"

Jon shook his head good-naturedly. "I'd assumed that much."

"Jonna."

Jon raised his mug in greeting, a smirk of recognition on his face. "A fine name – pleasure to make your acquaintance. You own the place, I assume?"

"Yeah… though I admit, runnin' an inn weren't my plan. But Falion decided to move here, so I joined him."

"Falion? Your husband?" Jon inquired.

"My brother" she corrected with a scoff. "Surprised you haven't already heard the town gossipin' away. Not a day goes by there isn't some omen that's got them convinced the end times were coming…"

"You'd be surprised how much there is of that about…" Jon added, resignation hanging in his voice. "But why do they blame your brother?"

Jonna's eyes hardened for a moment, but then she shrugged. "He's a mage. Tends not to be too popular 'round these parts."

"Ah."

Jon understood immediately. Whilst many of the oldest songs told of the heroism of Skyrim's magic wielders – indeed 'The Voice' itself was perhaps the greatest example, most folk still viewed magic users with caution – if not outright hostility. Add a crisis, and all but the most rational folk will start reaching for their pitchforks. In Whiterun, few folk seemed to have issue with the few mages who walked its streets. Balgruuf trusted Farengar – and that was enough for his people. As for that Elf – Eldawyn… well, Nords appreciated boldness. Not to mention, few could believe one who drank so much could be all that bad.

"Is there a story behind that burned down house down the street?" Jon asked suddenly.

"Hroggar's house?" She asked tentatively. "It burned down not too long ago…" She sighed. "It's a real shame about his wife and kid. The screams woke half the town."

"By Shor, you mean…"

Jonna nodded grimly. " 'fraid so. Most folk won't go near it now for fear it's cursed."

"Does anyone know how it started?" Jon asked.

"Hroggar said it was a hearth fire..." Jonna responded, clearly unconvinced. She looked over Jon's shoulder, seemingly to see if anyone could overhear. "But some folk?" She continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Some say Hroggar started it himself."

Jon leaned back on his stool in shock. "You can't be suggesting… his own wife and child?" He asked incredulously.

Jonna just shrugged. "That's what they say. See – he's living with Alva now. That started the day after the fire. It ain't right, movin' in with a new love the day after your kin die like that."

"Can't say I disagree with you. But is there any proof? You can't judge a man's guilt on hearsay. Just ask your brother…" Jon reminded her solemnly.

"Aye…" Jonna agreed reluctantly. "But the Jarl would sure like to know if he did though. Might even pay to find out..." She added suggestively.

"A Nord shouldn't need promise of payment to want to see justice done… Even in these dark times." Jon informed her coldly, dropping ten of the gold pieces he had earned from the Dawnguard. "If you don't mind, I'll take the room for the night. But first, I'd better go and see the jarl."

* * *

Jon closed the door behind him as he stepped into Highmoon Hall, denying the frigid breeze which dogged his steps. Jon was immediately struck by its sheer size. From outside it was clear the Jarl's hall was the largest building in the town, but even so it was deceptive. The wooden beams of the ceiling hung far above him, and Jon was immediately taken aback by the horker heads mounted on each side of the hall, the height of three men from the ground. On the far side of the hall, Jon could see two of the green-brown flags of Morthal hanging almost camouflaged against the wall, below the darkened panel windows. Adjacent to the throne on either side hung the mounted shells of mudcrabs, a strange display the likes of which Jon had never seen. Above, on a balcony, a young woman watched him, twiddling the end of her dark hair around one finger thoughtfully. She cocked her head slightly as Jon caught sight of her, before turning and walking out of sight.

The throne itself was perfectly in line with the hearth, and the smoke rising from the flames meant his first glance of the infamous Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone was made all the more ominous. Even in Whiterun, there were many whispers about the neighbouring Jarl's supposed abilities. Some claimed she had visions; foresight from the gods. Others claimed she was simply mad, or age and grief had robbed her of her senses. Which was true, Jon could not say, though in such strange times he couldn't rule anything out.

After receiving a wave forward from the agéd, brown-haired Nord to her right, Jon approached the throne slowly. The Jarl lived up to her epithet. Though her face bore the scars of time, her hair remained black as night. Her face was neutral as she turned to him, betraying nothing. She appeared neither curious nor troubled by his approach.

"So Jon Battle-Born," She began in a coarse, honest voice. "Life has brought you to Morthal, and to me. What purpose this serves, we will no doubt see. Welcome."

"My thanks." Jon uttered, after pausing in a moment of shock. "You know me, Jarl Idgrod?"

The jarl's expression remained as expressionless as stone. "Who you were. Who you are now remains to be seen."

"I see. I had heard you had certain… visions."

She nodded. "The Divines reveal things to me at times, yes. I do not hide this. It is a gift. Anyone who believes otherwise does not and cannot understand it."

"I… I see. Jonna mentioned the recent house fire. Heard you were the one to see about looking into it Jarl Idgrod."

"Hroggar's house fire? He lost his wife and daughter in the blaze…"

"I heard," Jon confirmed sadly.

"My people believe it to be cursed now. Who am I to gainsay them?"

"Perhaps the truth can allay their fears" Jon suggested gravely. "If I may ask – what does Hroggar say happened?"

The Jarl's expression still did not change, though her eyes watched him hawkishly. Jon felt the hairs begin to stand up on the back of his neck.

"Hroggar blames his wife for spilling bear fat in the fire. Many folk think he set the fire himself..."

"But what could drive any man to such an act?" Jon asked, unable to get his mind around such wanton evil.

"Lust can make a man do the unthinkable..." The jarl intimated coldly, staring unblinkingly into Jon's eyes. Jon felt as though she were boring into his soul itself. "And the ashes were still warm when he pledged himself to Alva. I won't arrest a man on gossip alone – but you… Yes. A stranger might find the truth for us."

She leaned forward slowly on her throne, her grip tightening on its wooden arm. "Sift through the ashes others are fearful to touch. See what they tell you."

* * *

Jon felt like an intruder as he walked through the empty doorway, the scorched floorboards below his feet groaning as he disturbed their rest. Any furniture that had once stood had been reduced to shattered cinders, save the blackened metal pot and the metal frame that had once held it above the fire.

As the jarl had instructed, he bent down in the centre of the room, and began to sift his hand through the inches of snow and ash which coated the floor. After a few minutes, his hand caught on something small and hard. Jon yanked his rucksack in front of him, pulling a torch free and striking a light with his flint and steel. Holding the flame in front of his face, he saw that in his hand was what appeared to be a small, stone pendant – carved delicately in the shape of a little bird. Jon rubbed his thumb gently to clear the last of the ashes, as if he were stroking its folded wings.

 _Who's there? Is it you father?_

Jon jumped. Struggling to rise and turn rapidly enough to face whatever had snuck up on him, the torch dropped from his grasp – extinguishing the moment it hit the ground, leaving Jon in darkness. Jon fumbled to grasp the handle of his silver sword. His eyes widened as a cloud of blue light coiled over the broken walls. It seemed diffused somehow, inconsistent, as if it were made of leaves slowly falling from a tree rather than a single entity.

As Jon backed away slowly, he stared in disbelief as the shards of light began to spin themselves into the shape of a little girl, filling the collapsed house with the same blue radiance.

"Who…. Who are you?" Jon asked, his voice little more than an awed whisper.

 _Helgi. But father says I'm not supposed to talk to strangers. Are you a stranger?_

Jon was starting to put it all together. Though tales of ghosts roaming Skyrim's ruins were fairly commonplace, it could not have prepared him for seeing such an apparition for himself.

"Well… my name is Jon. So, you see – I'm not a stranger anymore, do you agree?"

The ghost smiled a sweet little smile.

"Do you know what happened to your home child?"

 _The smoke woke me up. It was hot and I was scared, so I hid. Then it got cold and dark. I'm not scared anymore._

The fear in the child's voice as she recounted her final moments brought tears to Jon's eyes. He was unable to imagine the horror of what she must have been through.

 _But I'm lonely. Will you play with me?_

Jon wiped his eyes, smiling back at the ethereal child. "I don't see why not. But if I do, can you tell me who set the fire?"

 _Okay! Let's play hide and seek. You find me and I'll tell you! But you'll need to find me before the other one. She comes out at night too._

Jon frowned. "I'm afraid I don't follow girl. Who is this 'other one'?"

 _I can't tell you. She might hear me. She's so close…_

With that, Helgi's form began to discorporate, dissolving slowly into the air before vanishing entirely.

"Talos…" Jon swore softly, watching the light fade into darkness.

"Mother's always said the spirit world was strong in the marshes," A different voice uttered.

Jon struggled to re-light his torch, trying to cast light on the slender silhouette who appeared to be leaning against the door frame.

To his surprise, it appeared to be the young woman from the jarl's hall. Now they were on the same level, it became clear she was of fairly average height and build, wrapped in a non-descript maroon dress, with long white sleeves covering her arms. It struck him for the first time that she bore a rather striking resemblance to the Jarl. Her hair was the same shade of midnight, and whilst her expression seemed more vulnerable and uncertain, there was something that reflected in her eyes – that same penetrating stare.

"You startled me," Jon sighed in relief, lowering the torch to his side.

"You thought I was another ghost?" The woman asked, more curiosity than amusement in her voice.

Jon made a show of rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "That depends. Are you?"

She chuckled warmly, briefly casting her eyes to the floor. "Not at the moment."

"Well then… that's… Good to hear."

It was swiftly becoming clear to Jon that Morthal had no short supply of queer-seeming folk. Jon was surprised Jonna's brother was apparently under suspicion for 'odd' behaviour.

"In that case miss, may I ask what you're doing following me to an abandoned house after dark? The night ain't as safe as it used to be."

The woman's expression remained unconcerned by Jon's warning. "Mother's taken an interest in you," she said without missing a beat. "I wanted to know why"

Well, she was direct at least. Jon could appreciate honesty – even put so bluntly. "Your mother… the jarl I presume?"

She nodded. "I'm Idgrod – they call me 'the younger'. Guess I really don't have to explain why."

"Apologies my lady – I was unaware of your station."

She smiled a little awkwardly, as if she was unused to such formality. "You don't have to worry about it. No-one around town calls me 'Lady Idgrod'. In a place like this, you've all got to work together to survive. Not much time for airs and graces."

Her words could not be further from what Jon was used to. In Whiterun, clan, station and status were everything. Of course, Balgruuf had always treated all of his people with respect, but the very city itself reflected a physical reflection of hierarchy, dividing the districts. In Whiterun, to forget one's name or title was a grave error, and to be stripped of one was usually an even greater shame.

"I'll… certainly try to keep that in mind," Jon promised.

Idgrod strode nonchalantly through the doorway, her hands linked behind her back.

"What did it tell you?" She asked, running a hand along the wall near where the spectre had first appeared.

"It was Hroggar's daughter, Helgi," Jon informed her, following her path with the torch. "She'll tell me who set the fire – if she really knows that is – but only if I find her before someone else."

"Then you should." Idgrod replied, as if it were obvious.

Jon wiped the back of his gauntlet across his brow. "I'm afraid it's not as simple as that my lady," he pointed out diplomatically. "I'm hardly an expert on these things, but if a ghost isn't haunting her home – well… I wouldn't know where to start looking"

Idgrod cast her eyes up towards the hill looming behind the house. "Why not the cemetery?"

Jon was slightly taken aback. "I wasn't aware Morthal even had a hall of the dead…"

"We don't. Some like to have the rites performed elsewhere… plenty end up on carts to Falkreath or Solitude."

"And what about the rest Idgrod?" Jon asked cautiously.

She smiled, though Jon was unsure whether it was him using her first name, or whether she was being coy about the answer.

"Well traditionally – most Hjaalmarch dead are given to the marshes. Our bodies sink below the waters, and re-join with the earth."

Jon couldn't hide his surprise. It was becoming clear that assuming the whole of Skyrim shared the same precise customs, the same values was rather naïve in the least. Who knows what lost lore and secrets could be waiting in every village, in every stranger even. He was finally starting to appreciate the reasoning behind the wandering bard – beyond simply sight-seeing, or fleeing a particularly persecuting crowd.

"Does that have something to do with the spirit world being closer here?"

Idgrod just shrugged. "I don't like to think too much about it. Takes some of the wonder out, don't you think?"

Jon grinned, his fingers almost unconsciously twitching towards his lute. "We're of the same mind there Lady Idgrod."

She nodded contently. "Come on. I'll show you where you need to go."

As they followed the path around the inn, Jon and Idgrod continued to speak, as they gazed upwards at Masser and Secunda dominating the starfield above them.

"So," Jon began, unsure of how to approach the subject that had been nagging at him since her sudden arrival. "Do you have visions too? Like the jarl I mean."

"I don't... I haven't mother's gift, not quite, but I've seen things." Idgrod explained a little shyly.

"What sort of things?"

Idgrod turned to Jon, her dark eyes filled with worry. "I'm sorry – I don't think I can talk about it."

"I understand. Think nothing of it," Jon assured her.

"It's… difficult sometimes. To know whether what I see is real or not."

As they passed the inn, Jon saw a small earthen path begin to emerge to the left, twisting its way up the hill. Idgrod stopped.

"You're not coming?" Jon asked.

She shook her head. "I can only show you where the path is. Mother says you have to walk it."

* * *

Jon watched as the lights of the town began to fade into a distant glow beneath him. The snow crunched under his feet as he trudged his way up the slope, moving his torch left and right to try and find the path again for the umpteenth time. It was then, stumbling forward through the surrounding night – that he first noticed the footprints. For a moment Jon feared he'd ended up doubling back on himself, but a moment's examination told him otherwise. The footprints were a good inch or two shorter than his own, and the shape of the print was altogether wrong. Helgi's cryptic mention of 'the other one' couldn't help but float to the forefront of Jon's mind.

Making an effort to move as quietly as possible, Jon followed the prints. The distance between each one seemed to suggest at first an average walking pace – but as Jon got higher and higher, closer to the peak of the hill, they stretched further and further apart. Whoever made them was clearly running now.

It wasn't long before Jon reached the zenith. Several stone cairns were piled irregularly about the peak, and at each of their bases a myriad of nightshade flowers flourished, as if they had been given life by the dead.

Jon's attention however was immediately drawn to the cairns' centre. Something wasn't right here. Jon flinched instinctively as what looked like a shovel flew forcefully through the air to the left, the iron head colliding with the top of one of the cairns, knocking the top-most stone clean off with a painful metallic clang.

Jon blew out his torch, ducking behind the nearest pile of rocks and slowly drawing his sword as he allowed his eyes to become accustomed to the faint moonlight. He lowered his pack to the ground, quickly set about fixing an iron-rimmed buckler to his left arm. He didn't want to talk any chances here.

Satisfied, Jon slowly peered around the rock. A short figure in a black robe seemed to be clawing at a hole in the earth. Now he could see clearly, Jon noticed that they had apparently desecrated the cairn entirely before starting to delve into the frozen earth itself. His lips parted into a grimace. He had little time for anyone who dishonoured the dead. Preparing himself for a confrontation, Jon watched as the figure dragged a small wooden coffin out of the earth with a set of filthy, clawed nails. Now his night vision had focused, the figure was clearly female – most likely a Breton. Her short, mud brown hair was ruthlessly unkempt, tumbling downwards in all directions, obscuring her eyes. As she pried the box from the earth, she seemed to speak to herself in a shrill series of whispers, though Jon could only make out small, senseless snippets.

Jon rose to his feet, his blade whistling through the air as he held it towards her.

"Now then no sudden-"

Jon was immediately cut off as the woman reached for an axe on the earth beside her, leaping to her feet and swinging it recklessly towards him with a chilling scream.

" _An axe isn't like a sword kinsman" Gunmar pointed out solemnly. "The swing of a sword is easy enough to absorb – but a man puts the full weight of his swing behind an axe – but that deadly bite comes at a cost."_

Jon nimbly sidestepped the mad wretch's advance, causing her to stumble forward, unbalanced by the power of her swing.

"I won't ask again!" Jon threatened, giving the poor creature one final chance to recover whatever senses she had.

It was then Jon saw her eyes. They glowed like the fires of oblivion, and the feral hiss that emerged from her mouth revealed two vicious fangs.

"She's mine! You won't take her from me!"

"Vampire…" Jon swore, tightening the grip on his silver blade.

 _So that's how it has to be_ , he thought – steeling himself for the inevitable.

The vampire charged at him again, this time launching her axe in a wide arc that made dodging impossible without tumbling into the pit she had dug moments earlier. It was all Jon could do to raise his blade to parry with both hands, but the unholy strength of the undead monster sent him stumbling backwards all the same.

Suddenly, before Jon could even catch his breath the air all around him appeared to glow in a crimson beam of energy as the vampire reached out with her free hand. Jon immediately felt his life energy beginning to leave him.

" _Hmph," Isran grunted irritably, pacing around Jon in a semi-circle. "If you have to get up close and personal – vampires have a number of dirty tricks. If they cast a drain spell on you, the key is to act fast – break their concentration. Wait too long, and you're as good as dead…"_

With a battle-cry soaring from his lungs, Jon charged at his foe. The vampire recoiled instinctually, unprepared by the audacity of his sudden aggression as Jon's bracer brutally collided with the side of her temple. The vampire's spell broke instantly.

Jon wasted no time, slashing at the vampire's side with his blade, causing another screech to erupt from its mouth as the wound began to smoke horribly, as did the boiling blood on Jon's blade. She moved to swing at him again with the axe, but now her movement was clumsy, unbalanced. Jon easily side-stepped the blow, bringing his sword down again just in time to cut the weapon from her grasp before kicking her legs out from under her.

"NO!" The vampire demanded, waving her arms frantically as Jon drove his knee into her stomach, discarding his silver sword in favour of a dagger from his belt. Jon raised the small blade, preparing to drive it into her heart – but then he froze.

In his mind, the Breton vampire's facial features shifted. The hair changed from dirty brown to a perfect white hue, and her eyes took on a familiar pink.

He couldn't do it again.

The vampire, not eager to let her final opportunity for survival pass by, grabbed Jon's shoulder, preparing to go for his neck with waiting fangs, but before she could make contact, Jon met her half-way, headbutting her with all his strength – knocking her out cold as her head slammed against the frozen earth below.

Jon pushed himself to his feet with one arm, rubbing his throbbing forehead with the other as he began to stumble towards where he left his pack. He seized a large coil of his rope and set about sawing off several reasonable lengths, before returning to his incapacitated enemy. Jon bound the vampire's arms and legs, ensuring the snares were tight enough to restrict her movement, preventing her unholy strength from simply snapping them. Content, Jon rose and approached the exhumed coffin, preparing to lay it to rest once more. Yet as he reached for the box, a familiar, small voice called out to him.

 _You found me! Laelette was trying to find me too, but I'm glad you found me first. Laelette was told to burn mommy and me, but she didn't want to. She wanted to play with me, forever and ever. She kissed me on the neck, and I got so cold the fire didn't even hurt. Laelette thought she could take me and keep me, but she can't. I'm all burned up…_

Helgi's voice began to fade, becoming slow and weary.

 _I'm tired. I think I'm going to sleep for a while now._

With that, the voice faded away, until all Jon could hear was his own wearied breathing. He turned to look at the comatose vampire once more, this 'Laelette'. Once again – this vampire had seemingly showed remorse for what it – for what she had done, and had seemingly become obsessed with making amends – in her own warped, twisted fashion.

Jon regretted in this moment that the Dawnguard were only interested in killing vampires – they had no scholars seeking answers on the nature of the condition itself. Was Aelfwynn truly an anomaly? Or was there perhaps more to his undead foes than he could understand.

"Is anybody there!?" A voice called out from beyond the cairns. Jon ceased his attempts to rebury Helgi's remains for a moment, turning to face where the voice had come from. He saw an orange glow rising over the lip of the summit, and soon what appeared to be a bulky, heavy browed Nord with sandy-blonde hair heading towards him.

"Over here kinsman." Jon called out, clapping the dirt from his hands.

The man made a bee-line for Jon, his eyes squinting to see him beyond his torch's reach.

"I heard the commotion, I came to see what – my gods, Laelette!?"

The man rushed to the Breton's side, falling to his knees before her. Jon rushed to grab the man's shoulder, trying to pull him out of harm's way. The man shook him off roughly with a cry.

"What have you done to her stranger?! Was it you who kidnapped my wife?"

"Certainly not brother," Jon assured him sincerely. "The Jarl herself can vouch for my arrival this evening. But… there is something you have to know. Look at Laelette. Look closely."

The man's expression shifted from blind hostility to confusion. He swivelled back to his wife's prostrate form.

"What are you talking about – she's my wife, she's…" he stuttered, before breaking off mid-sentence. Jon could see him observe the unnatural pallour of her skin before he touched its cold surface and identify the claw-like talons at the end of her fingers. Jon watched as the nord gently parted her lips with his index finger and thumb, revealing Laelette's predatory fangs.

"Ye gods!" her husband yelled, pulling himself away from her. "Laelette… she's a vampire!"

Jon nodded solemnly. "I'm sorry friend. For what it's worth… I understand how you're feeling.."

"Do you?!" He accused, running his hands through the crest of his hair in anguish, seating himself on the cold earth. "Do you know how it feels to have to explain this to your own son, who begs me to tell him what has become of his beloved mother every night!?"

Jon could give no answer.

"Is she… Is she dead?" The Nord asked, his voice cracking as he spoke the final word.

Jon shook his dead. "Merely unconscious. She will awaken before long. Vampires… tend to heal quickly."

Laelette's husband just shook his head, as if by denying the reality of the situation he could render it false.

"What's your name, kinsman?" Jon asked, trying to distract the man from his own personal horror for a moment.

"Thonnir," he replied.

"Do you have a trade Thonnir?"

"I… just work at Jorgen's mill. When I don't, I look after my boy, Virkmund. He's more important to me than anything."

Jon moved to sit beside him, forming a small smile. "As it should be."

"You… you have children?"

Jon smiled sadly. "Afraid not Thonnir. At least, not for a good while yet."

"So, who are you?"

"Jon," he answered. "I just got here from Whiterun"

"So, you're a wanderer?"

"Amongst other things. I'm a bard by trade."

Thonnir looked back over to Laelette, who gently twitched in her sleep. "I've never met a bard who could take down a vampire." He let out a small laugh. "She was always quite the firebrand. Even… even before this."

"Well, as I said – I dabble. Joined up with a group of vampire hunters out in Riften a while back. In these dark times, they're valuable skills to have."

Thonnir stared off into the distance. "I'd heard stories…. They say vampires have been attacking whole cities out in the other holds. I had just put it down to harmless tavern tattle."

"It's true," Jon admitted. "But that's no reason to lose hope. They're not invincible Thonnir – and they haven't won every battle."

"But now they've reached Morthal. Or at least… they reached Laelette."

"When did she first go missing?" Jon asked, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

"It was two weeks ago. Two weeks tonight in fact."

"Was there anything… odd you noticed about her? Anything that might have suggested something was wrong?"

Thonnir creased his brow in thought. "She… began to spend a lot of time with Alva. Yet just a week before, she despised her. In fact, the night she disappeared, she was supposed to meet Alva. Alva told me later that she never showed up, told me there were rumours about her joining the Stormcloaks. I never got to tell her goodbye."

"The Stormcloaks? Had she ever mentioned that before?"

"Never," Thonnir affirmed confidently. "She would never have left our boy without a mother. Truth be told I thought Alva must be mistaken – that may she just ran into trouble out in the marshes. She used to go out to collect certain mushrooms and herbs sometimes. Truth be told, that's why I heard the shouting from up here. Each night I've gone out to search for her."

There was quiet for a moment.

"You love her greatly, don't you?" Jon asked, already knowing the answer.

Thonnir looked back at his bound wife. "That I do."

Jon ran his mind over everything that had happened. Whilst he had certainly solved the mystery of the fire – there was something else at work here. How did Laelette become a vampire – and who would have such power over her as to force her to doing something Helgi had told him she never wanted to do? Something which caused her such remorse as to try and turn the girl, once after the fire, and again on this very night?

This Alva seemed to be his only lead.

"What.. what are we going to do with her?" Thonnir asked him hopelessly.

"One step at a time, friend. Lets get her somewhere safe."

* * *

Jonna listened to the comforting crackle of the hearth steadily burning down, her eyes watching the almost hypnotically dancing wisps of flame. She was gradually beginning to cross the wall of sleep – when that accursed bell rang out from the door.

The barkeeper's eyes snapped open, only to see the green-cloaked stranger from earlier that evening storming towards her.

"Room's over there," Jonna said sleepily, pointing towards the adjoining guest chambers.

Jon smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry to bother you Jonna, but I need your assistance."

"What kind of 'assistance'?" The Redguard asked suspiciously, raising an eyebrow.

"Do you have a strong-room here? Somewhere you protect your valuables?"

"Are you robbing me?" Jonna asked in disbelief, shaking the last traces of sleep from her mind.

"Nothing so mundane, I assure you. It's… probably best you sit down whilst I explain."

And so Jon began to explain himself. Whilst at first Jonna had brushed his suggestion aside as misplaced chivalry, within moments she had dropped onto her stool behind the bar. She just listened in disbelief as Jon explained meeting the ghost of Hroggar's daughter, and how Laelette, sweet Laelette had apparently burned their home to the ground – after being turned into a vampire.

"Do you have any idea how crazy all this sounds?!" Jonna interrupted him in exasperation.

"I apologise Jonna. But you'll have all the proof you need in a moment – but we don't have much time."

Nevertheless, Jon's request still managed to take her by surprise.

"You wanna lock up a vampire in my inn?!"

"Just for a while," Jon assured her. "Until we get to the bottom of all this. When she wakes, Laelette may have vital information for the safety of Morthal." He paused for a moment, his eyes becoming distant." There's something wrong about all of this, and we need to know what it is."

"Why don't you lock her up in the jail under the guard house?" She asked, pausing for a moment. "You realise that's exactly what it's for, right?

"We didn't think the guards would take to kindly to being handed a vampire to guard in the middle of the night. Thonnir thinks they might just… kill her. The poor man isn't ready for that yet."

"But you think it might come to that?"

Jon nodded gravely. Jonna drummed her fingers on the bar for a moment, wrestling with what to do.

"Don't suppose saying it'll scare off the customers will carry much weight, huh?" Jonna sighed. "I've got a store-room, down below," She admitted. "It's where I keep the ale barrels, and the best bottles I get hold of. The door's iron reinforced, and it's got a pretty good lock. Bring her down there. But you better go and tell the Jarl about this first thing in the morning, you hear?"

Jon nodded, walking back towards the door.

Jonna picked up a nearby bottle, pointing it at Jon accusingly. "And you're paying for everything she breaks!"

* * *

Jon gave Thonnir a reassuring nod before he vanished into his house, wishing the confidence he wore on his face was genuine. But there was no time to wallow in uncertainty. Despite what had happened at the cemetery, Jon was reluctant to report back to the Jarl just yet. The revelation of Laelette's nature may well exonerate Hroggar, but laying Morthal's fears to rest so soon might blind them to something worse.

This 'Alva' was the connection. Thonnir had reacted incredulously when Jon had suggested she too might have fallen to vampirism, but Jon knew it was a possibility he couldn't ignore. A single vampire nestled comfortably within a community could wreak more havoc than an army camped at its gates. He had trusted Jon enough to point out which house was hers, back across the water on the far marsh bank.

Weeks ago, Celann had explained to Jon how vampire infiltrators were often careful to leave no trace – preferring to move amongst the prey completely anonymous. However, in recent times such an adversary seemed almost from another age. Vampires had been brazenly attacking villages, cities, even forts had been said to have been emptied in a single night, only for their imperial or stormcloak reinforcements to find their comrades slaughtered like cattle, their punctured necks speaking mutely as to their fate. But in this case – anyone could be under the vampire's spell. Perhaps Thonnir's avid denial of Alva's guilt suggested even he had succumbed to her influence.

So Jon stood, staring across the black waters, planning his next move.


	39. Chapter 39: Identity

_Author's Note: Sorry for the large delay between uploads. It's been rather hectic on my end, though continuing this story has never been too far from my thoughts. Thanks to all of you who have stuck with Atoning for Blood, and as ever feel free to leave your thoughts in a review!_

Chapter 39: Identity

The nights were becoming quieter in Dead Man's Drink. Only six weeks ago, the tavern was filled with the raucous shouts of Nord men cheering over a good-natured brawl, encouragements and taunts accompanied by the musical clink of septims changing hands. Young suitors sat at corner tables in the warm shadows of the hearth, whispering sweet nothings and passionate promises into each other's ears. No longer. Now only the oldest friends seemed to meet for a drink, but even they would seem to discuss little more than pleasantries before making their excuses to return to their families. Iliana should have been pleased by the change; she no longer had to fear for Bolund's drunken advances, nor for freezing to the spot whenever she saw fists flying too close for comfort.

Yet the atmosphere now spoke only of unease. The pervasiveness of tavern tattle was legendary across all Skyrim after all, and whispers of various levels of credulity bled into Falkreath soon enough. Tales of entire battlefields of men and women left unburied and rotting near Ivarstead, of Dragons snatching livestock and people alike from farms and villages and darker still; tales of undead monsters striking hold capitals without mercy or warning.

 _No_ , Iliana thought to herself. _Not unease… dread._

Falkreath knew death more than any other hold, but now it seemed to box them in on all sides – waiting to claim the townsfolk for its own. It was the vampires which terrified her most of all. War and dragons were loud and blatant, but the shadow monsters were different. Iliana would never forget the night she'd finally defied her father, sneaking out of their house while he slept, hoping to find her exiled sister, a wedge of bread in hand. She'd barely had time to turn a single corner before the gruff cry of a guard caught her ear, and running towards the sound she found Frieda's lifeless, dirty corpse staring into nothing, two red holes bored into her neck. A monster had taken the person she'd loved most – and within days it came for her father.

Valga handed Iliana her dwindling wages mournfully, before turning away and carrying a set of empty bottles into the next room without another word. Iliana quickly stashed the tarnished coins into her small leather satchel as she glided towards the door, stepping out into the night.

The cobbles were hopelessly smothered in muddy slush. At first Iliana made a vain effort to hold the hem of her dress out of the path of each step's spray, but soon surrendered to the inevitable, her footfalls splashing ever closer to home and rest.

She creased her brow in confusion, cursing under her breath as the key failed to turn in the rusty lock. At first, Iliana assumed the iron had finally decayed beyond the point of use, but a brief pull of the handle proved her wrong. The door was unlocked. Shaking her head slightly in disbelief, she reached down for the knife concealed within her satchel.

The fireplace had been lit, the small logs stacked haphazardly into a small pyramid, crackling and spitting sparks onto the stone fireguard. Iliana was about to run for the guards before she caught the slightest movement on the edge of her vision. She couldn't resist a glance at the intruder, the flickering firelight intermittently illuminating a hunched figure sitting at the end of a long since vacant bed. The figure appeared to be studying its own twitching hands, apparently indifferent to Iliana's return.

"Don't look at me," a hoarse voice begged before she could move, in a tone so familiar Iliana felt her hands start to shake as she froze to the floorboards.

She felt suffocated, choking on the disbelief of what she saw. The knife fell to the floor with a thud, and Iliana reached out for the wall to support her.

"Wh-who are you?" Iliana asked finally.

There was silence for a moment, as the figure in shadow refused to meet Iliana's gaze.

"Some dead girl" it answered finally, in a terribly quiet, bitter voice.

"Oh Divines…" Iliana uttered, closing the distance between her and her sister. She reached out for her face, but Frieda pulled away without looking up.

"You're alive…" Iliana breathed, yet Frieda merely shook her head in response. Iliana followed her gaze towards her sister's hands, for the first time noticing the stains of dried blood and torn skin that marred her pale fingers and knuckles.

Frieda didn't move when Iliana crossed the room, nor when she returned with cloth and bandage to tend her battered hands. Satisfied with her efforts, Iliana rose again, seizing a blanket from her own bed and wrapping it around Frieda's shoulders. Keeping busy was the key. As long as she kept her hands occupied, she didn't have to think, to understand. Somehow her sister was home, and for now that was all that mattered.

* * *

Idgrod the Younger pulled the furs over her sleeping brother's shoulders. She sat gently on the bed beside him, and ran a hand through his near shoulder-length hair, praying this would be one of the rare nights Joric slept soundly. She had lost count of the times over the last months Joric had wandered from his bed, sometimes even making it as far as the marshes before she could find him. When she sternly asked the guards how they failed to notice the Jarl's son leaving the hall, they could only shake their heads and open their mouths in silent plead. Joric's words echoed through her mind, back when she had found him wading up to his thighs in the misty marsh-water.

 _I get lost sometimes. I'm not sure where I go, but I'm not... I'm not here._

But it was his eyes that frightened her. It was as though they were impossibly far away. So lost.

Idgrod had never experienced the gift to the extent Joric had. Yet what she had experienced sent chills through her. When she saw things – if eyesight was truly involved at all – she felt as if she were on the brink of falling into another world. A colder world. But Joric had fallen again and again, and each time Idgrod was afraid he wouldn't make it back.

She heard the heavy metal boots on the stairs outside the bedroom long before a mailed fist rapped surprisingly gently against the wooden door. The horn-helmed guard bowed his head respectfully as Igrod opened it.

"Idgrod," he began softly, "I'm sorry to disturb you, but…"

Idgrod dismissed his apology with a kind wave. "That's alright Gorm, what is it?"

"It's that wanderer again. That skinny blonde Nord who spoke to the Jarl earlier. He says… well, he says its urgent."

Idgrod had been wondering what the awkward stranger had found along his path. But why would he come to her now? Questions most likely. Outsiders could be a little overwhelmed by Hjaalmarch at first.

"I'll see him then."

Gorm took a step back. "I'll fetch him immediately," he complied with a stiff nod.

"No," she countered firmly, casting a glance back to her sleeping brother. "I'll go down to him."

Idgrod took a moment to fasten the clasp of her simple cloak before stepping out into the cold night air. Jon was sat at the bottom of the wooden stairs, gazing out towards the marsh across the water. She coughed lightly to draw his attention, causing him to quickly rise and turn to face her, his face full of surprise. He looked more haggard than when they had last met, even in the nearby guards' torchlight she could see dirt streaked across his strange armour.

"Lady Idgrod… I was perfectly content to come up to you," Jon apologised.

"I wasn't," Idgrod replied, descending the stairs to stand alongside him. "What can I do for you?"

Jon's eyes moved to the guards standing near the hall cautiously. "It's… well it's a rather sensitive matter Lady Idgrod"

She motioned for Jon to take her arm. "Then walk with me."

Idgrod listened intently as Jon described his encounter atop the cemetery hill, the ensuing battle and his rash decision to imprison the undead Laelette in poor Jonna's inn.

"Do you know how reckless that is? You've put a citizen of Morthal in mortal danger!" She pondered his actions for a moment. "If you'd ran for help when you saw what Laelette was, I would understand. But you didn't – you fought and won, but why did you spare it?"

Jon's jaw tightened slightly. "Because if that vampire dies – we lose an important piece of a larger puzzle. It would be foolish to throw away the only evidence we have of vampires in the hold."

Idgrod's dark eyes cut through him like ice. "You're lying to me Jon."

Jon's expression froze for a moment, turning to look at Idgrod before he actually chortled. "Partially perhaps. I do have another lead. Alva."

"Alva?" Idgrod asked in surprise, not sure what Jon was getting at.

"I talked with Thonnir. Laelette's strange behaviour started when she started to spend time with Alva. Further still, it was she who told him Laelette had left to join the Stormcloaks."

"It could have just been a rumour Jon."

"She could well have started the rumour," Jon shot back. "Gossip can spread like wildfire in a close-knit community."

"You're right about that. We're all close here – and we've all known Alva for a long time, you don't think we would have noticed we had a vampire in our midst?"

Jon's face became grave, and his tone darkened. As he spoke it was now his eyes that bore into hers.

"That's what makes vampires so dangerous Idgrod. They can live alongside you – imitate and charm those around them, while all the time casting silent illusions and deceptions, changing what you think, what you feel. They say in the old times a single vampire could tear a city apart through fear and madness without ever revealing its presence."

Idgrod's mouth opened slightly as she realised the gravity of what he was suggesting.

"In more peaceful times you'd be right to have a great many doubts I'm sure. But I'm willing to bet even here you've heard what's going on out there."

He was right. Tales of vampire atrocities had filtered through from supply carts and the occasional wanderer, and her mother had taught her long ago not to dismiss something simply because it was difficult to understand, or easy to fear.

"If vampires are as dangerous as you say, and their words are so poisonous – it still begs the question of why you let Laelette – or maybe just the monster that killed her – live."

Idgrod let him linger in brooding silence for a moment before she continued.

"It's pretty clear you need something from me Jon. But if you want me to trust you, I need something from you too."

Jon let out a long sigh, wiping his brow. "You ever hear of the Dawnguard?"

Idgrod thought for a moment. "Vampire hunters, right? I think we had one of their recruiters pass through here a while ago."

"Aye. Before I came to Morthal, I was one of them. For a short while at least."

"But not anymore?" Idgrod asked.

"Now there… that's the question. Don't get me wrong, I still believe the mission is just. But for a while there – I lost myself in the mission. I let it define who I was. After a while I realised I didn't like what I saw. After I lost my brother in the war… well, it gave me a chance to find a new path."

"Interesting, certainly. But what does this have to do with Laelette?"

She saw him tense, a small knot in his shoulders, in his brow. "It was a vampire that set me on the path. Both the one that brought me to the Dawnguard and then led me away again. If she taught me anything, its that things aren't always as black and white as they seem."

"This vampire then, you spared her," Idgrod assumed.

Jon turned to her again, and for a moment she glimpsed some horror behind his eyes. "No. I didn't."

For a moment, neither of them said anything, before Jon continued. "When I found Laelette, I found her trying to steal the interred corpse of the girl she burned alive. Her words were… deranged, but it seemed she had been driven mad by remorse. Most vampires wouldn't even understand what that meant. There's something else at work here Idgrod, and everyone here is in danger until I find out what it is."

The resolve, and perhaps hint of fear in Jon's eyes caused Idgrod to believe him.

* * *

Jon was grateful as Idgrod emerged from the guardhouse and placed the iron key in his hands.

"Make sure you're right about this," Idgrod insisted, clearly uncomfortable at the idea of allowing someone to break into the home of one of her neighbours. Jon simply gave her a small bow, before striding away, his green cloak billowing behind him.

Long before he'd even met with Idgrod, Jon had decided entering by night was out of the question. If Alva was a vampire, she would undoubtedly be active at night, and there was no guarantee she would be out of the house, and there was little doubt Hroggar would be sleeping within. By day on the other hand, the widower would likely be working at the lumber mill – as Jonna and Thonnir had confirmed to him earlier. A vampire wouldn't allow her thrall within the community to draw unnecessary attention – although Laelette's actions certainly bespoke that some serious mistakes had been made somewhere.

Jon's sleep was troubled that night. Nonetheless, by now that was the rule rather than the exception. At first, the vampire in the space below him caused him some unease, as he lay atop the furs listening for the scratches and screams that never came. In dreams, the lake waited for him almost every night, and the eyes that pleaded at him from below the surface. Eventually however, morning came, signalled by the soft light that streamed in from the tavern windows alongside the clatter of plates and bottles from the next room.

Jonna had a meal already prepared for Jon as he left his room. The bags under her eyes suggested that their 'guest' in the cellar below them had weighed heavily on her night as well.

"Gonna ask Falion to drop in after you swagger on out," she informed him pointedly. "He knows more about vampires than anyone, and I could use some peace of mind."

Jon nodded. "Just don't go down there alone. She may be restrained, but Laelette is a killer now, don't forget that. The longer she goes without blood, the stronger she'll become."

Jonna looked rather troubled by that. "And how long do you plan to leave her down there again?"

"By tonight's end, you won't need to worry any longer. I give you my word."

The distant Frostfall sun still had a distant trace of heat in it, which took the edge of the otherwise crisp morning air. Jon emerged from out of the inn's covered porch, and cast an eye over towards the lumber mill. He picked out Thonnir guiding a log towards the large cutting saw alongside a number of other townsfolk. Jon didn't know Hroggar by sight, but odds were he would be among them. Unburdened by his pack, but with his sword still by his side – Jon began the walk towards the house Thonnir had told him belonged to Alva. He made a show of casually walking down the wooden causeway alongside the waterfront, casting his eyes around him to ensure that once he reached the door he would be unobserved. Jon was no sneak thief, but he thought himself alert enough to do that much.

Reasonably confident he hadn't been observed, Jon turned the key in the lock and slipped inside.

It was the normality of the house which surprised Jon. A small bookshelf above the fireplace, the head of a bear higher still, with both a single and double bed at either end of the generously sized room respectively. Fine animal skins decorated the walls, and several bottles of black briar mead were generously placed across the variety of furniture. Directly opposite the front door was a stairway leading downwards, presumably to the basement. In particular Jon's eyes picked out a lute leaning against one of the bookshelves. The only thing that struck Jon as odd was the relatively lavish furnishings of the room, from his conversations with Thonnir, Jonna and Idgrod, he had never gained any insight into whatever Alva claimed to do for a living, and certainly Hroggar wouldn't have the spare income on a lumber worker's pay – especially after the loss of his own home.

Jon searched the room as thoroughly as he could without obviously disturbing too many household objects, but found nothing that could incriminate Alva – or Hroggar for that matter. Jon had half-expected to find Alva here, sheltering from the daylight, but there was no sign as of yet.

Nevertheless, the basement remained – and Jon had long since learned the undead's preference for sleeping underground, whether freshly turned vampire or ancient draugr. Jon knew that vampires slept deeply. It was one of their few weaknesses after all, however Jon still winced at the strained creaking of each hollow, wooden stair under his feet, in his mind building the tension of his slow descent. On reaching the bottom, his thickly gloved hand reached out for the door, and slowly eased it open.

An open coffin sat at the centre of the room. Its dark, wooden surface appeared to be painted with tribal symbols that faintly reminded Jon of the giant camps in the basin of Whiterun. The coffin lay upon a raised platform, decorated at each corner by a standing candelabra, four goat horn candles burning low on each.

Jon immediately went to draw his silver blade, moving his hand slowly enough so the scraping of sword on scabbard would make as little sound as possible. His legs felt heavy as he stepped towards the box, peering to see what was inside. The woman who must have been Alva lay silently within the coffin. Her arms were folded across her chest, wrapped protectively around a leather-bound book. She was garbed in similar attire to what Olfina used to wear when on duty in the Bannered Mare, although with the addition of a tight brown corset around her waist. Jon couldn't help but notice the flawlessness of her beauty. Like Idgrod her back-brushed hair was a striking shade of midnight, yet against her perfect snow-kissed skin it emphasised an almost inhuman beauty. Even in sleep, the corners of the woman's mouth were turned upwards in an almost cruel smirk.

Everything Isran, Celann and Gunmar had taught him told him not to hesitate. A simple downwards thrust, aimed for the heart would turn her to dust in a moment. The vampire would be dead, and whatever hold she had on the townsfolk would die with her, in time at least. Yet doubts crept into his mind as he raised the sword. What if there was some slight possibility he was wrong? What if he was right, but there was no evidence except a smattering of dust which could have come from anywhere, leaving a suspicious stranger and a missing citizen for the guards to investigate? What if there were other vampires walking amongst the townsfolk, and Alva was the only lead?

Could he even do it? His actions at lake Honrich had stayed his hand against Laelette – what if he struck at her only to freeze again?

There was one possibility, one single chance to be sure. Jon knelt, placing his sword against the cold stone of the raised platform, before reaching out for the book nestled at Alva's bosom. His eyes flickered between his shaking hands and Alva's closed eyes. He held his breath as his fingers clasped the bottom of the book, and gradually, ever so carefully worked it free.

As Jon let out a gentle breath of purest relief, Alva's eyes flickered open.

She sat up in a single smooth motion, her face lacking a single trace of concern. Her eyes seemed to examine him curiously, and as her eyes rose from his neck to meet his own, Jon struggled to remember why he was there. There were only her eyes. At first, they seemed as green as jade stones, yet as Jon studied them they began to change, swirling into a rich crimson.

"Well, aren't you the handsome one," Alva drawled. "Were you really so desperate for us to spend some time together?"

Jon found himself entirely helpless as the pale woman reached out her right hand to stroke his stubbled cheek softly. He felt an overwhelming urge to place his own hand over hers, and after the merest twitch of hesitation he couldn't help himself. Alva's smile was positively predatory as she glanced at his sword lying against the stone floor.

"Help me up" she ordered, seemingly not out of any real need but simply because his submission pleased her. Jon didn't argue. Her request seemed perfectly reasonable, as did her pointed suggestion to pick up his sword and put it back in his scabbard. In the back of his mind Jon felt as if he'd forgotten something important, but for the life of him couldn't place what it was.

Looking at Alva, he knew all was as it should be.

* * *

The aroma of cooking vegetables stirred Frieda out of her despondency. In her new life, the smell of mortal meals had held no interest for her. After a while, the very concept of consuming long dead animals and plants disgusted her entirely, akin to the feeling of watching a dog ravaging streaks of sun-baked carrion. Yet now her pathetically mortal body responded involuntarily, mouth watering and stomach stirring. It was an entirely different kind of hunger to the thirst. Frieda desperately tried to grasp onto of the memory, hold it close, and yet as every moment passed, she found it more and more difficult to understand what it had felt like.

Even now, her pathetic vision was no longer as disorienting as it had been for the first hour, and her other senses weren't dragging too far behind. The fire no longer stabbed searing poison into her eyes, the sense of terror it had once inspired never came. The flames were merely life and much needed warmth to her damp, cold body.

Iliana almost dropped the wooden bowl of broth into her lap. Frieda still refused to meet her gaze, she felt nothing but revulsion for whatever pity or compassion her sister felt the need to give. Even the idea of eating in front of her seemed like some sort of concession. But the moment Iliana turned away from her to serve herself, Frieda surrendered to the desperate hunger. Though she now struggled to comprehend the ecstasy of blood, the unsavoury sensation of swallowing down the lumpy chunks of vegetables and meat provided Frieda another painful echo of what she had lost.

After Iliana had apparently completed every menial task she could think of, she pulled up a worn wooden chair and sat in front of Frieda. Frieda finally met her gaze openly, and watched ambivalently as Iliana wrestled to find something to say. Her eyes were that of prey. Like a startled rabbit they seemed unable to focus on any one thing for long, instead darting about the room as if she expected a hawk to swoop down and take her at any moment. The legacy of her father lingered still it seemed. When Frieda looked on her sister now, she saw the life she could have had – she would have had, if she'd submitted to him. If not for Wynn.

"Why," she began with a stutter, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. "I mean… I don't understand what…"

"You couldn't," Frieda cut her off. "You couldn't begin to know."

"I want to" Iliana replied softly, reaching out a hand towards Frieda's knee. "Frieda, I saw the body. Your body. You were dead Frieda, we buried you…"

Frieda chuckled cruelly, grabbing Iliana's hand and pressing her nails into her hand. "Did you mourn? Seems to me you should have saved your feelings for when I was still breathing!"

Iliana's face fell as she snatched her hand away.

That wasn't fair. Frieda knew it well enough, but she derived some selfish pleasure from blaming her sister all the same. She laughed again.

"You find this funny?" Iliana asked, traces of anger leaking into her tone.

"I didn't at first," Frieda admitted. "But now? A few hours ago I was going to rid you of all this. I was going to show you everything. But now I'm back here – as weak and powerless as I was when I left."

Frieda paused for a moment, waiting for the realisation to hit her sister. " You still don't get it, do you? I wasn't killed that night. I was saved." She tapped her neck in clarification.

Frieda watched Iliana's eyes widen with a smile, though her tome became increasingly sombre as she spoke. "Yes sister dear, I was made into a vampire. And if it weren't for one deranged priest – I would have given you the same choice. But now here I am, mortal. As if freedom was all some fantasy I dreamed in the grave."

She saw the rush of fear consuming Iliana, the widening of her eyes and the slightest tremor in her arms. The thousand little delicious signals the prey gives off as the chase begins – or ends. Frieda hated her for that. Seeing Wynn in her recent state had been bad enough, but this was worse. Iliana was nothing but a child, too afraid to step beyond the shadow of her childhood. She remembered that feeling of helplessness all too well.

Frieda turned her head, eyeing the sheathed blade she had placed on the bed beside her. Florentius hadn't taken the trouble to relieve her of that. He had torn away tooth and claw, sucked the very power out of her blood, but he left her a sword.

Was it in fear of her, or was it simply a message? _Arrogance_ , she thought. The mad priest can't imagine I'm a threat to him any longer – a threat to anyone at that.

Yet as she pondered the blade, a realisation began to surface in her thoughts. The priest hadn't reversed the hourglass for the last several years, not truly. Frieda had once told Serana that she wouldn't have known so much as how to hold a sword before leaving Falkreath, but no longer. Frieda had fought and killed nearly every day of her vampiric existence, and though the flavour of each moment seemed to vanish in her mind, she still retained the raw memories. She knew how to cut a man's legs out from under him. How to feint with a quick strike before slashing for his neck. And the precise spot necessary to be sure of piercing his heart.

Morcar and Wynn were still out there somewhere, and whilst her panicked thoughts had scattered her wits, it now became increasingly apparent how to find them; the Moth Priest. If he was the key to Harkon's plans somehow, then her path was clear.

As for Florentius, though nothing would please her more than the sight of his body cut into bloody ribbons, could still prove useful in that regard. Their travels thus far had proved that Skyrim's people, whether common rabble or haughty nobles feared the Vigilants, and as a result were far more likely to respond to his interrogations.

What would Wynn do, Frieda mulled over briefly in her mind, and before long the answer was obvious. She would play a role, play along with whatever fantasy Florentius had dreamed up for her.

Perhaps, in time she would taste the priest's blood after all.


	40. Chapter 40: From the Depths

_**Author's Note:**_ _Once again, thank you for your patience with this one. Some chapters seem to write themselves rapidly from the moment your fingers hit the keyboards, but others require more perseverance. I was delighted to receive another new review recently; I hope all of you continue to enjoy._

Chapter 40: From the Depths

Shadows moved in Alftand. They drifted past arachnoid automata endlessly patrolling the crumbling corridors, past great pistons pumping upwards and releasing enormous plumes of white steam into the air, and past the furtive crawling of the Falmer. They bore mute witness to wonders the surface world only dreamed of, and horrors that stalked its nightmares. In small chambers apart from the main corridors, Corpses of man, mer and beast lay strewn across what appeared to be examination tables, cruel bladed instruments mutely conveying their gruesome fate. Enormous scuttling insects roamed sections of gravelled caves, their ebony scales clicking tunelessly as they moved. Enormous spiders wove unfathomably complex webs from the enormously high ceilings. It was as though Alftand were a corpse, and all the foul creatures within it were merely feeding on its death.

All in all, it was as though the shadows were slowly descending towards Namira's scuttling void, and the laboured roars of the ancient machines within this cursed place were her bated breaths, beckoning.

* * *

As Aelfwynn and Serana slipped past yet another vast metal door, the priestess struggled to supress a notion of growing despair which had steadily wormed its way into her mind. For what felt like an age they had delved endlessly deeper into the ancient city of the dwarves. Where were they going? What chance did they have of finding another way out compared to finding a final dead end, or a terminal pile of rubble that sealed their fate; buried forever. But it was the only path there was. She had to walk it, and pray Mara hadn't abandoned her altogether.

Yet for the first time Aelfwynn could remember since they entered this haunted place, the steps lead upwards. At their peak, the causeway transformed into a luminescent cavern, lit by bulbous, glowing mushrooms clinging to the rock above. Across a moat of gravel and earth, sealed behind a row of golden bars, two diagonal staircases led up to a raised, almost temple-like platform, lined with metal fence and carved dwemer stone. Further still, towers rose higher and higher above her. At the edge of the platform, a giant metal ballista loomed warily over everything. Beyond, Aelfwynn made out a further staircase, rising out of sight towards the distant towers.

Despite the solemn beauty however, the air remained thick with the rotting stench of the Falmer. It clung to the air surrounding Aelfwynn like a foul perfume, and it was only a few moments before she caught sight of their crude, ebony shacks sheltering unwelcome in the shadows of the majestic structure. She shared a knowing glance with Serana, who nodded curtly in response, wiping a lock from her brow thoughtfully as she searched for a way to lower the bars.

Aelfwynn felt the tension grow as the two vampires slowed to a crawl as they began to traverse the loose stones of the cave floor. Whilst entirely blind, it seemed the Falmer had developed an unfathomably acute sense of hearing. Whilst descending through their lairs throughout the Dwemer ruin, Aelfwynn had seen their heads turn sharply at a single drop of water shattering against the ground a hundred yards away. Only a slim veil of vampiric illusion had masked their steps. Before long, Serana had managed to locate a large lever placed on a stone walkway directly above the door through which they had entered.

Her eyes flickering between the lever and the not so distant shapes of shadows moving between the ugly huts, Aelfwynn knew that this could be a problem. So far as she and Serana had traversed the ruin, they had managed to avoid making any excessive noise interacting with various objects. The Dwemer had included few enough doors within their city, and those which they had - the Falmer had hardly bothered to close neatly behind them. But this time was different. Amazingly resilient as Dwemer technology was, Aelfwynn found it highly unlikely that she or Serana could pull the lever without either it, or the gate they presumed it would open, making some sort of sound from which the Falmer would swiftly discern their presence. They were clearly not animals after all, possessing what seemed to be a malignant intelligence and thirst for cruelty.

The look the two vampires exchanged however, confirmed what they both seemed to fear. There didn't seem to be any other choice, besides turning back. As far as Aelfwynn was concerned, that was not an option. Signalling to her companion to go ahead, Aelfwynn summoned the ethereal threads of illusion magic between her hands, bracing herself for the worst.

The next few seconds seemed to last forever. Serana was clearly taking great care to move the lever with small, smooth movements, and it seemed to be working. Slowly, the lever rose higher and higher towards its apex, and as it crested its highest point Aelfwynn dared to feel a small rush of elation flow through her. Yet her hopes fell like a stone when she heard it clunk into place, and the systematic series of clicks and groans which resonated from below the barred gate. The bars fell, and the Falmer began to scream.

Aelfwynn didn't even manage to release her spell before a malformed arrow took her in the leg. She stumbled backwards, wincing in pain as the curling streams of red light bounced harmlessly off one of the distant rock faces, dissolving into nothing as it collided with a collapsed dwemer tower on the cave floor. She took a moment to wrench out the arrow with a grunt. Her vampire armour had done its work, within a moment Aelfwynn could tell the wound wasn't nearly as deep as it could have been.

She suddenly heard a hiss from behind her, and within a moment an ice spike loosed from Serana's hand had embedded itself in the neck of the Falmer that had shot Aelfwynn. The creature could do little more than open and close its maw in protest before collapsing to the ground helplessly. Aelfwynn didn't waste the opportunity, gritting her fangs through the pain to cast a cloud of frost which rolled like a great wave through the four Falmer still rushing towards them. Volkihar frost had few equivalents in its potency, yet although the creatures were clearly slowed by the wave of bitter cold, they advanced on grimly nonetheless, bounding up the stairs like frenzied trolls.

Instinct took over. As soon as one of the stooped monsters rose up to swing at Aelfwynn with its maliciously hooked blade, she seized its wrist in mid-air with an unnatural strength, compelling the creature to drop its weapon before Aelfwynn forced her free palm into its hideous face. A defiant hiss erupted from her lips before she could stay the impulse, and a rush of pleasure pulsed through her body. Before Aelfwynn could quash the feeling, she was actually enjoying the struggle. No, this was no struggle. It was a contest. The basic assertion of dominance by a superior animal. Even the pain pulsing through her right leg was merely fuel for each of her strikes as the remaining two falmer crested the top of the ancient stone staircase. As Serana swung her golden dagger into the neck of the enemy closest to her, Aelfwynn slashed at the other's throat with her claws, sending it reeling backwards in pain. The rest of the fight was short and brutal. The falmer were deadly creatures to be sure, but against two of Molag Bal's children they had little chance.

Wynn looked at the dark blood that coated her fingers, feeling the sudden urge to feed building to a crescendo. However, after only a moment's inspection the aroma of the dead Falmer's vitae was odious, coated with a scent of rot and depravation. Twitching with enduring exhilaration, Aelfwynn's head snapped around, searching tirelessly for more opponents, yet it appeared there were no more falmer in the area, or perhaps more likely those that were had realised their chances of survival were better if their presence went unnoticed for the moment. She caught Serana stealing an appraising glance at her. Unusually however, there was neither disapproval nor mockery in her eyes. When Aelfwynn realised what it was, she finally managed to pry the beast from the forefront of her mind.

It was recognition.

Around Serana, Aelfwynn had always focused on proving she was different. She hadn't embraced what she had been made into. She worshipped her goddess, she helped the weak, and she showed revulsion at her condition – and all of it had grated on Serana relentlessly. But first in the butcher's lair and now again, she had given into the vampire, and again Serana had noticed it, approved of it. Once again, the armour that she had rapidly become re-accustomed to felt exposing, shameful. It was as though her companion were radiating the smug assurance that she had been right all along. There were moments when Aelfwynn thought she had got through to Serana, when she thought they understood one another, but those moments had always been fleeting.

Atop the flight of stairs which loomed high above the raised platform, the gates stood closed. No longer so cautious of making any sound, Serana rattled each hinged door impatiently, though her undead strength was not rewarded. The enormous doors stood firm, indifferent to their attacker. Meanwhile, Aelfwynn took the opportunity to take a closer look at her surroundings. On each side of the platform, built into two symmetrical towers, two identical statues stared impassively into each other's faces across the floor. They appeared to be cast from the same Dwemer metal which featured in almost every aspect of their culture; from the pipes which carried steam along the ceilings, to the bowls and plates from which they ate, to the automata which endlessly patrolled their halls. Additionally, the statues were curiously ensconced within a frame of the same material, which shadowed the giants' outline. On first observing their faces, Aelfwynn speculated that they might have been depictions of the Dwemer themselves. The faces certainly bore enough of a resemblance to the austere heads which had frequently gazed uneasily down from the corridor walls during their descent at least. Yet as she approached them, it was the arms which puzzled her the most. The right appeared to end in an enormous, solid hammer, whilst the other ended in a wickedly sharp-looking blade. She would not have thought it odd if the statue were merely holding a weapon in either hand, but instead the weapons appeared more as natural - if slightly grotesque - extensions of their arms. After Serana gave one more heroic effort to prise the gate open, Aelfwynn suddenly picked up the subtle sound of air escaping, a high-pitched whistle in the air. Moments later, she saw small pockets of steam seeming to emerge from the joints of both statues.

And within another moment, the trickle became a roaring flood.

The right-hand statue exploded, its form seemingly unable to take the vast amount of steam pressure that suddenly coursed through it, collapsing onto the stone floor with a deafening clang. Aelfwynn barely managed to avoid the great brass head as it flew across the chamber, fracturing one of the ancient stone walls with a crack.

The other statue was not so fragile. Though its sombre face remained entirely expressionless, the statue detached itself from the frame which contained it, and advanced grimly towards Aelfwynn. The vampire barely managed to raise a ward before its bladed arm arced mercilessly towards her, yet the magical barrier shattered entirely on impact. The edge cut deep into Aelfwynn's cheek as she stumbled backwards, speculating that perhaps her policy of avoiding weapons – at least since losing her silver mace - might not have been such a wise idea.

Serana had responded to the situation by loosing several spikes of Ice at the hulking automata – but they did nothing more than shatter harmlessly against it. Gradually, the terrifying truth of the situation finally began to sink in for Aelfwynn. When fighting an armoured foe – you had to look for a weakness. But how did you fight a foe who _was_ armour? She quickly let off an illusion spell for good measure, but just as she predicted the gaseous red wisps had no observable effect.

Aelfwynn continued to dodge each blow as it came, grateful at least that the automaton's vast size made the intention of each of its movements more obvious, and therefore more easy to avoid. Waiting until the machine struck for her with its hammer once again, Aelfwynn launched a forceful kick at its exposed hip joints. However, once again the creature remained entirely unmoved, merely turning to slash at her again, managing to catch the end of one of her white locks in the process.

They weren't going to win this fight.

One last desperate hope in her mind, Aelfwynn staggered up the stairs towards the sealed gate. Serana appeared to have vanished from her position at the pinnacle, and Aelfwynn had no time to search for her companion now. The creature lumbered after her, climbing the broad stone steps in twos and threes, advancing with uncanny speed towards the spot where Aelfwynn stood, leaning against the vast brass gate which barred their passage. She forced every nerve in her body to remain deathly still as the creature raised its enormous hammer, letting it reach the height of its swing and begin to strike downward, waiting until the last moment before throwing herself onto the stairs, giving the automaton no chance to alter the trajectory of the catastrophic force of its blow, slamming into the gates with both a raucous clang and a raking screech – forcing them open.

Aelfwynn rolled chaotically down the flight of steps, colliding painfully with the edge of almost every one as she fell. Landing face down on the edge of the stone platform, she reached out one hand for the bottom step, lifting herself enough to gaze upwards at the tireless adversary which had turned to bear down on her once again. As the creature raised its enormous blade, Aelfwynn closed her eyes, waiting for the final blow.

Then she heard it. A sudden crank from above her, the sound of cogs screaming in protest against one another, and of sparks fizzling into the air. Aelfwynn opened her eyes to see an enormous brass bolt sticking out of the odd orb at the centre of the monster's chest. It had penetrated its body with such force that the tip of the projectile was now visible behind the machine's expressionless head, pointing upwards towards the shattered gate above. The automaton's great arms dropped, and its once again still form began to pivot forward from the momentum.

Time seemed frozen for a moment, and then the statue fell. Aelfwynn could only watch as its vast bulk plummeted towards her, her body involuntarily tensing as she braced herself once more for the end. But then it stopped. Five feet above her, the body seemed to hang in the air, motionless.

"Aelfwynn…" She heard a voice call her, groaning with effort. "Get up!"

She did as Serana bid, crawling out of the shadow of the hulking machine and pushing herself slowly to her feet, reaching out for the fence to support her aching body. She watched as Serana struggled to extricate herself from below the automaton's chest, and its lifeless husk crashed to the ground with a horrendous clang as she released her unnatural strength.

"You saved me…" Aelfwynn breathed, half in disbelief.

"It seems to be habit forming doesn't it?" Serana replied in her usual dismissive tone. "You're welcome. Lucky for us that thing still works," Serana explained, gesturing to the immense ballista sitting on the edge of the platform, now turned to face where the Dwemer monstrosity had stood only moments before.

"Can you walk?" she asked Aelfwynn, as the priestess let go of the wall that supported her.

"Yes," she informed her with a small smile, reaching down to retrieve her satchel. "I'll be fine… as long as that gate I just wrecked doesn't lead anywhere other than the surface."

* * *

"That was pretty stupid yknow," Serana told her as they walked upwards towards the gate. "You should have gotten out of the way of that thing the moment you saw it move… you're no use to anyone cut neatly in half."

"Running away never really came to mind…" Aelfwynn admitted, pulling off her gloves to examine her battered fingers.

"You surprise me…" Serana commented dryly, smiling slightly in spite of herself.

The chamber had four carved pillars, framing a central table, a stone surface raised by a Dwemer metal mesh. Atop its surface there were a series of golden metal rings, separated by small clefts as they circled the centre in smaller and smaller shapes. At its centre was a hollow of slightly darker metal, the size of a large plate. Half-embedded into its surface were two turquoise shapes, an orb and a flat disc, secured by their own rings of bright gold.

Reaching out to touch the orb, Aelfwynn ran her hand over its smooth surface. She flinched as the orb hummed in response, its dusty surface illuminating with a glow. Aelfwynn's eyes widened slightly in wonder as she briefly pondered its purpose.

On the far side of the table, the outer golden circle met with a metal column which rose several inches above the surface. Aelfwynn crossed towards it, noticing Serana had crossed the chamber to yet another golden double gate. Before joining her, Aelfwynn briefly investigated the small column, noting that it appeared to have a small hollow within its head. She pressed a finger on what appeared to be a small push mechanism within it, moving her eyes back to the turquoise artefacts, but beyond an initial click it seemed to have no effect.

"Any luck?" Aelfwynn called out, turning her head to watch Serana as she fiddled with the gate behind her.

"Well… at least this one seems to have some sort of a lock on it. I'm stressing the 'some sort' part. I admit, I don't think I've ever seen one quite like this before – Mother certainly never brought one back to her study with her - not that I ever saw anyhow."

"I don't understand," Aelfwynn stated with frustration, twirling a finger through a lock of her hair. "Why would these Dwemer suddenly have so many sealed doors with no way to open them?!"

"Presumably because they didn't want people who weren't Dwemer snooping around," Serana answered snidely.

Aelfwynn continued to investigate the strange table whilst Serana continued to work on the lock, all the time keeping an ear out in case the Falmer saw fit to return. After a while, the older vampire threw up her hands in surrender.

"I'm getting nowhere here," she said bluntly, pausing for a moment in thought. "Stick around. I'm just going to test a little theory back there."

As Serana wandered back down the stairs, Aelfwynn crossed to the locked gate, placing each of her hands on the cold bars and peering through the gaps. To her immediate dismay, the circular chamber beyond didn't seem to lead anywhere. There was only a metal lever at the centre, and a raised ceiling above which disappeared out of Aelfwynn's limited field of view.

Before long, Serana appeared atop the steps, holding a golden sphere between her pale hands. Blinking for a moment in surprise, Aelfwynn quickly recognised the object – it was the odd nodule which had appeared to be at the centre of the great automaton's chest, and indeed as Serana drew closer the priestess could make out the javelin-sized hole which had entirely penetrated both sides of its round surface. At its centre, a red eye stared out into the room, stubbornly continuing to glow with a faded opalescence which seemed in a constant flux of waxing and waning.

"What do you want us to do with that?" Aelfwynn asked in puzzlement as Serana placed the metal eye atop the table.

"Well… I thought to myself, if I was a cunning old Dwarf – where would I store a key?"

Aelfwynn narrowed her eyes. "As it happens… I wouldn't know."

Serana placed on hand on her hip. "What's better than just hiding a key in a chest? Hiding it in a chest which can defend itself! Mother once did something similar with… never mind."

With that, Serana lifted the sphere and seemed to twist the odd device in her hands, causing it to open with a sharp click. It separated into two symmetrical halves, and within a moment Serana had triumphantly drawn what appeared to be an intricate Dwemer key from inside.

Without further hesitation, Serana pushed it into the lock. Slowly the key turned, and with a satisfying clank, the raven-haired vampire pushed the great gates open.

* * *

"There's nothing the mortals can do…" Alva sneered, as she re-tied her gemmed amulet around her slender neck. "Anyway, the people here… they're like cattle. All they do is work, and sleep, and eat. It's a mercy really. They'll all be so much happier as thralls."

"But aren't you concerned about Laelette?" Jon asked, concern heavy in his voice as he absently rubbed at the mark on his neck.

A glower of spite passed across her face. "Laelette is out of the picture," Alva informed him curtly, before her sultry smile returned. "Thanks to you actually."

Jon's brow creased at that. "It… it is?"

She moved towards him, halting intoxicatingly near. Jon's thoughts seemed to fade into a haze, losing himself in her.

"Of course," she assured him. "Laelette first disappeared as soon as she decided to get a little too… _creative_ with Hroggar's house. Without you… well… I don't know if I could have drawn her out into the open. It was easy enough to pay her a visit at Jonna's last night. A very short visit…."

Alva leaned in closer still, her lips so close to his ear that Jon could feel the cold words on his skin. "I watched you for a while… as you slept. But I knew I didn't have to do anything. I knew you'd find your way to me soon enough."

She kissed him then, a lingering kiss which ended all too soon, leaving Jon with the sweet ache of a tender bite of his lip.

"So be a good boy… and Movarth might just let me keep you."

There was nothing in the world that Jon wanted more.

Seemingly having said her peace, Alva crossed the floor to her opulent wooden table and lifted the cover off of Jon's retrieved satchel. She immediately noticed the head of his lute poking out of the top, and retrieved it with glee. Holding it against her body, she plucked dissonantly at two of the strings, causing Jon to wince.

"A lute… you are full of surprises – aren't you lover?" Alva drawled, walking back over to Jon and almost dropping the lute into his arms, which caught the beloved instrument protectively. She sat beside him on the bed, and Jon could feel her nails pressing into his shoulders.

"Play a song for me."

The words had barely finished leaving Alva's lips before the staccato melody began to pour from his fingers. The melancholic tune rose and fell, and even Alva's certain smile seemed to waver ever so slightly.

" _We've never been closer,  
Though our worlds keep us apart,_

 _Our names locked in hatred,  
Their hearts lost in the past,_

 _Words spent and blood shed,  
honour, pride, and passions fed,_

 _Yet your strength and your beauty,  
enraptured me completely,_

 _My heart, my love is yours,  
Olfina."_

Jon's voice fell away as the stanza concluded, knowing that this is where the song always ended. And yet for some reason he played on, the words coming to him unprompted.

" _Our war rages on,  
from dusk until dawn._

 _A bard without a tongue -  
Silent words, no song._

 _From the madness of blood, my tears became a flood.  
I had already succumbed, I knew not what I'd become._

 _And still my soul waits,  
at the bottom of the lake."_

Alva smiled no longer.

Without missing a beat, Jon wrenched the lute above his head, and slammed it into the side of Alva's skull, hitting her right in the temple. The vampire crashed to the ground with an acrid hiss, reaching out uncertainly for the bedpost. Jon lunged for his sword leaning against the nearby dresser, ripping it free of its scabbard and swivelling around to face Alva once more. The Nord vampire had clambered to her feet, her vampiric nature now visibly written into every inch of her suddenly harsh, angular features, and her merciless red eyes.

But this time, Jon didn't hesitate.

He drew the silver sword back behind his shoulder, and then slashed sideways at Alva with every ounce of strength in his body. The blade burned through her. With a monstrous screech, the once beautiful seductress fell to the ground, cleft un-cleanly in two. As the blood drained from her broken form, her skin turned black, fading into ash which then landed sickeningly on the pool of blood, resembling some Hellish sand.

Jon reached out for the dresser to support him, unable to swallow the retching which wracked his body for several moments.

The door burst open, slamming painfully against the wooden wall as a slender Nord with frazzled red hair and mad eyes thundered into the house. He had a steel axe clenched too tightly in his left hand.

"ALVA!?" The man who could only be Hroggar cried, seemingly noting the blood on the edge of Jon's sword. Without so much as another breath, he leapt towards Jon with axe raised maniacally above his head. Jon side-stepped the frenzied strike, which instead landed deep within the surface of the wooden dresser. When Hroggar failed to retrieve it with a series of frantic tugs, he just lunged at Jon with his bare arms, clawing madly towards the blonde man's face. Jon grappled with the maddened widower, grasping each of his flailing arms and forcing them to his sides.

"I know what you must be feeling Hroggar!" He shouted, trying to force the man to come to his senses with a rough shake. "Talos I know… but it's not real!"

Jon wrenched one of Hroggar's arms behind his back, forcing him to look at the bloodied ashes which piled in the corner beside Alva's bed.

"That's all she was. Blood and lies, lies that stole your family from you! That murdered your own daughter, your little Helgi in cold blood!"

Hroggar just shook his head violently, shutting his eyes as if to block out the world. Then he broke, falling to the ground and sobbing, the floodgates of grief finally released from Alva's spell.

"It's over." Jon said, placing a hand on the man's shoulder before crossing the room, and grabbing Alva's journal from the table.

Alva's evil may have been over, but there was still much to do.

* * *

Aelfwynn was out of options.

Despite her best efforts to search for another route onwards, the circular room lead nowhere. The ceiling, as she had previously noted, was slightly higher than she could have seen from outside the gate, yet it too seemed to lead nowhere.

All that was left was the lever.

Once Serana was stood beside her, Aelfwynn placed both hands on the handle and pulled firmly, clanking into place with a single smooth movement. Suddenly, great metal cogs on the walls began to turn, and the entire room began to vibrate with energy as the sounds of pressurised steam could be heard from behind the walls. Aelfwynn watched with amazement as the room from which they had entered seemed to fall away from her, as the marvellous device carried them inexorably upwards.

Through the bars, she caught sight of unfathomably complex labyrinths of metal pipes and gears, enormous chambers – some of which Aelfwynn thought she might recognise, others she knew were entirely unknown to her.

She felt the compulsion to weep building behind her eyes, partly from the new hope that she wouldn't be buried alive, doomed to starvation and madness in a dead city, but also in the newfound knowledge that there was nothing like this lost city – and never would be again.

History had closed its pages on the Dwemer.

After the rising room passed a final familiar ruined chamber of stone, water and ice, Aelfwynn bit her lip in anticipation. She was certain of it now. The surface waited for her, the fresh air on her skin, the open skies above her. The breaths of a breeze or the roar of a gale. Aelfwynn would take a thunderstorm for all she cared.

Then all at once, light shone unopposed between the golden metal bars - and Aelfwynn screamed. The scorch of silver, or even that of an Aedric relic couldn't hold a candle to the sun. Aelfwynn's satchel dropped to the floor with a clumsy thud as she fell to her knees, desperately trying to cover her face with her blistering hands, which promptly began to fume with choking smoke.


	41. Chapter 41: The Darkness and the Light

_Author's Note: Once again I can only apologise for the delay. Having to finish an enormous University project whilst starting a new job rather tends to take up rather a lot of time. However, the worst is now passed, and I hope to be able to update more regularly once again. As always, I hope you enjoy, and feel free to leave me a review!_

* * *

Chapter 41: The Darkness and the Light

The stone corridors of Castle Dour resonated with dissonant echo of voices. Two dozen armoured legates stood, rowing loudly around the enormous table at the modest hall's centre, clinking in their ornate steel armour as they gestured. Some were leaning over the great map laid across its surface, others crossing their arms whilst tentatively keeping back from the heated discussion flaring around the room.

Seated half-way along the longer side of the table, Skyrim laid out before him, sat General Tullius. Unlike his subordinates, the general said nothing, merely keeping his eyes fixed on Skyrim as they spoke. Whilst many of the legates and centurions who had gathered in the castle wore their privilege openly on their jowls, the same could not be said for their leader. Though not quite dwarfed by his ornate Imperial armour, the general wore a toned, ascetic frame – a thin face above a tight, rigid jaw. Despite the cold climate, he kept his face meticulously shaved and his steel-grey hair cropped severely in the imperial fashion. His brown, hawkish eyes missed nothing beneath his regal, imperious brow.

"Sir, we should consider pulling out of Falkreath immediately." One legate advised brusquely, cutting off the last speaker and pointing sharply at the southern region of the map. "With Whiterun in their hands and Frostfall upon us, the Stormcloaks are too well supplied to launch an effective-"

"NO!"

The haughty officer was interrupted as General Tullius' fist slammed against the table, knocking his nearby goblet of spice wine chaotically onto its side. Every one of the gathered Imperial military commanders who lined the room went silent. The general's perfect composure appeared to have entirely evaporated in an instant. Tullius' fist was actually shaking with rage, his face a picture of burning frustration and contempt.

"I will not forsake my duty to the empire by giving up Falkreath." He finally answered, the quiet gravitas with which he now chose to speak more intimidating than his previous outburst. He raised his gaze, high enough to stare the now deflated legate dead in the eye.

"I was not entrusted with command of the Emperor's armies, entrusted to turn this rebellion around only to lose the entire province in less than a year! I will have no more compromises, no more retreats. I do not intend to give one more inch to those Stormcloak traitors – do you hear me?! The line has been drawn!"

The general shoved himself to his feet, raising himself to his full height. Despite his modest stature, Tullius still managed to tower over everyone and everything in the room.

"Out. All of you."

When several of the officers blinked and hesitated in surprise, Tullius' scowl evolved into a grimace.

"You heard me – dismissed!"

They dared not hesitate further. As the final close-helmed commander neared the arched door, Tullius reached out a hand.

"Not you."

The figure stopped obediently at his words, turning their head to face the general as he slumped back into his stiff wooden chair.

"I'm tired Rikke." Tullius finally admitted, only after several moments of silence had passed. He rubbed at the dark circles under his eyes, seemingly trying to clear his bleary vision – see a breakthrough in the stalemate and disaster that had more and more began to afflict this campaign the longer it dragged out.

As he did so, Rikke pulled the indifferent steel helm from her head, revealing sympathetic eyes that matched Tullius' own.

"This war has been one disaster after another. Sometimes it feels as though the Divines themselves are against us."

Rikke shook her head insistently. "That's not true, sir."

"Wouldn't matter if it was," Tullius countered, his eyes habitually returning to the map before him. "I fight for the Empire Rikke. That loyalty goes further than any other devotion."

There was silence for a moment.

"You've never been reticent to share your thoughts, legate."

Rikke's discomfort was clear. "I admire your devotion, sir. But not all Nords share those priorities. The loss of Talos…"

Tullius waved a hand. "That's what you Nords can't seem to get through your heads. Tiber Septim – Talos, whatever you decided to call him… he's a symbol. When you look at those statues all over the Empire – a man with a serpent of Akatosh crushed beneath his heel, you see man's victory over time. The rise of mankind to create the greatest civilisation Tamriel has ever seen, a civilisation for men, elves and beasts. As long as faith in the Empire endures – the Thalmor will never prevail."

Another quiet moment passed, though Rikke could sense the general wasn't finished.

"I remember what it was like that day – the darkest day. When word of the impossible came into the emperor's camp. The Imperial City – my Imperial City, had fallen to the dominion. A bastion of Imperial Strength which had never fallen to an outside force since Alessia herself."

Tullius paused once more, as if processing the information for the first time.

"I remember running the words of the messenger around in my head, over and over. I couldn't put them together. In what seemed liked moments a cloud of despair had enveloped just about everything. We knew it was over. The empire was dead. But in that moment – the emperor sent for us. He ordered us all to attend him in the centre of the camp. He was sat atop his horse – a midnight-black Cheydinhal Stallion. Exactly what he said doesn't stick in my mind anymore – too long ago – but how he said it will be with me until the day I die. By the time he had finished speaking, the same men who had been drowning in defeat had tears of pride running down their faces. I knew then that I would never doubt the empire again. What it meant to the world. I followed Titus Mede II to the battle of the Red Ring – and saw him bring the most devastating army Tamriel had even seen to heel. None of us liked the White-Gold concordat. We all knew what it was Rikke – both sides stalling, giving themselves enough time to prepare for the next war. The last war. I thought that resolve that had filled every one of us in the legion would spread to every citizen in the empire… but since? The Blades hunted down like dogs. Hammerfell seceding, and now this… _rebellion_ in Skyrim. I can hear Elenwen laughing at us from here Rikke. Even when I try to sleep I hear that damn superior voice. We brought the world to heel once – and now we're just betraying ourselves."

Rikke had no words. None were needed. She looked deep into her superior's eyes, and nodded once.

"What are your orders, sir?"

Tullius allowed himself a tight smile, finally able to clear himself of the melancholy repose which had seized him.

"I want a communique sent immediately to General Valerius in High Rock. I want every man he can spare sent here – along with horses, weapons and supplies. With Whiterun and Falkreath on the front lines we can't rely on Skyrim to produce enough infantry to support us. And with Pale Pass closed…"

Rikke's eyes were a question. "You still think Ulfric might have had something to do with that?"

"No," Tullius shot back immediately. "Whatever titles he gives himself, Ulfric has no power over the seasons, not even a gentle breeze for that matter."

The general seemed to miss Rikke tensing her shoulders as he finished.

"Still, Ulfric thinks he can just sit tight and let the snow do the work for him. We're going to show him just how wrong he is."

* * *

Frieda loosened her messy plait, running her fingers through her dishevelled blonde hair and letting it fall freely over her shoulders. As she did so, she became aware of a slightly foul aroma, picking up a lock of hair and holding it up to her nose, her suspicions were swiftly confirmed.

She stank. Not only of the dirt which still peppered her skin and hair, but of sweat. Frieda had to swallow the nausea that the realities of her own mortal body evoked in her.

Trying not to wake her sister, more out of need to maintain her dignity than common courtesy, Frieda began to remove her armour one piece at a time, before moving her attention to the crude, unattractive wooden tub beside the unlit fireplace. After cooking Frieda her first meal, Iliana had collapsed into bed, exhausted, almost immediately falling into fitful sleep. Every so often, she would seemingly half-wake, glancing around the room as if to check if her sister were still there. The emotions her sister threatened to stir in her just irritated Frieda further. There was nothing for her here, and Iliana couldn't follow where she was going.

The bath was a sad thing. The gradual warping of the wood had in turn begun to deform the iron hoop which rounded its irregular circumference, yet despite all that it appeared to have remained somewhat watertight.

 _It doesn't matter_ , Frieda thought to herself. Anything was better than having to show herself to this awful town before she was ready for it. Tentatively, Frieda lifted her leg, slowly placing her big toe beneath the surface of the water, immediately regretting it as she yanked her leg backwards with a surprised squeal, nearly knocking herself over in the process. Gods the water was cold!

Frieda froze as she heard Iliana begin to stir, letting out the faintest sigh in her sleep when her sister rolled over again, falling back into a deeper doze. It took immense effort for Frieda to lower herself into the water without making more sound than a strained breath.

Overall, the experience frustratingly reminded her how clumsy every action was as a mortal. She could practically feel all of Nirn laughing at her as she inelegantly scrubbed herself clean, before dunking her hair in the water. Finally satisfied – if that was indeed the word – Frieda leaned backwards and closed her eyes, resting her calves over the end of the tub.

She would go today. There was no point staying in Falkreath a single moment longer than necessary. Every second she was here felt like she was being embalmed, suffocated in memories of a girl who didn't exist anymore. She didn't want the weakness to set in. On the roads with her sword at her side she was a killer, a predator, the way things were supposed to be.

"Would you like me to light the fire for you?" A sleepy voice asked from behind her. "It might be a little hard to dry yourself off without it…"

When Frieda didn't answer, Iliana climbed out from under her furs, pushing her curls behind her ears before crouching down by the fireplace.

Frieda couldn't help but notice the familiar little smirk on Iliana's face. Frieda tried to ignore it, but only managed for a few seconds.

"What?" Frieda finally demanded.

Iliana flashed her a sickeningly sweet look. "Did you even try to heat the water Frieda?"

"No." Frieda shot back haughtily, doing her best to seem entirely nonplussed by Iliana's amusement. But before she knew it, Frieda was sniggering at herself, shaking her head. Iliana joined her in the laugh, and they shared the brief, warm moment.

As the fire flickered into life, Iliana fetched a large sheet of linen, holding it open for Frieda as she climbed out of the creaking bath. A small puddle formed around her feet as Frieda sat in front of the fire, thinking about precisely how she would act when she saw Florentius later today. She couldn't seem too submissive. The graveyard proved that the priest did in fact have a mind – and having her act exactly the way he wanted would immediately rouse his suspicions.

Wynn always said that the best deceptions come from your own experience. It's one of the reasons she could play the part of the loving priestess of Mara so well – because she could lie with the truth. She would tell Florentius she still wanted to stop Harkon and find the priest – that it was the only direction she had. And when they found the priest – she would kill him. It didn't matter whether he found the priest before anyone else any longer. His death would prove that whatever he had forced on her – he had not taken all of her strength.

Warmed and satisfied, Frieda grabbed her armour from beneath her bed, and began to equip the pale grey leather once again.

"You know," Iliana interjected, walking over to her chest of drawers. "If you want to wear something more… comfortable, you could always borrow one of my work-dresses? We're almost the same size now, so-"

Iliana stopped mid-sentence, clearly catching the look in Frieda's eyes.

"You're leaving."

"I'm leaving," Frieda repeated blandly, struggling to tie the back of her armour's corset as she spoke.

Without a word, Iliana crossed to the bed and took over. "You haven't even been back a day," she pointed out, her voice tightening as she spoke.

"There's nothing for me here," Frieda insisted bluntly, reaching up instinctually to start plaiting her hair before suddenly deciding against it, letting it fall to the small of her back unimpeded. "There never was."

"And what about me, huh?" Iliana demanded. "You just storm back into my life – give me some hope that I'm not completely alone in this… miserable graveyard of a home, and then you just leave because… what? You have somewhere better to be? Better than here with me?"

Frieda leapt furiously to her feet, grabbing Iliana by the arms. "If things had gone my way – I would have taken you with me – I would have given you the greatest gift in this world, made you strong and free and terrifying…"

"…and into a monster!" Iliana roared back at her. "Oh, so I should take comfort in that if it was up to her, my big sister would bite me on the neck and make me a killer? I thank the Divines that whatever you were didn't come knocking on my door last night. Instead they sent me my sister!"

Frieda saw tears filling Iliana's eyes, and as she fell forward, clasping her arms tightly around Frieda, she gave in. Frieda held her sister for a brief moment, before that awful thumping in her chest brought her back to her senses. She abruptly broke the embrace, grabbing her blade from the floor before rushing for the door. As her hand rested on the handle, she looked back to her sister for a moment, regret and guilt trying to force her to turn back.

But it was far too late for that. She belonged to someone else.

Frieda pulled the door open, immediately moving to step through, but as soon as she felt the sun's naked rays on her face she fell backwards with a strangled cry of fear, dragging herself backwards into the safety of shadow.

Iliana beheld her strangely for a moment, curiosity seeming to dissipate at least some of the fury which had erupted from her only moments before. She walked calmly to the open door, glancing beyond to check what might have startled Frieda – only for the obvious to hit her all at once. Her shadow fell over Frieda as she tried to force herself to get up, to overcome the inhuman fear which still ruled her. Iliana squatted down beside her, wordlessly offering a hand and pulling her older sister to her feet. She nodded once reassuringly, then she turned, and slowly walked Frieda out into the light.

* * *

Aelfwynn couldn't think, couldn't reason; the pain demanded her undivided attention, consuming every moment until she was suddenly plunged into darkness.

"Aelfwynn!" She heard Serana shout, her normally guarded voice unable to mask her panic. "It's alright – you're going to be alright! It's your robe, put it on, quickly!"

As the agony receded into mute, blunt pain, Aelfwynn fumbled blindly behind her, trying to find the right place for her arms. Once she finally had them in place, her hands cowering within the cuffs of the robe, she felt Serana pulling her gloves over her hands. For fear of the light burning her eyes out, Aelfwynn didn't dare to open them, even as Serana took her by the hand and helped her to her feet, guiding her by the shoulders until she felt a wall at her back.

Aelfwynn felt Serana's hands leave her then, blind and alone. Her hood was pulled forward so far that it covered her entire face, not daring to bare the smallest part of her skin.

"There's still hours until sunset Aelfwynn." She heard Serana say, her voice slightly muffled through the material. "We can't stay here – the sun's just shining in through the bars."

She heard a clank which could only be Serana trying the lever again, trying to make the platform descend.

"Damnit!" She cursed. "This isn't working."

Aelfwynn heard Serana's voice coming closer to her once again. "Look, this isn't going to be easy… but I think its best if we keep heading towards Winterhold. We can make it – I know we can."

The very idea of stepping out into the naked sunlight just made Aelfwynn's shaking worse.

"No. I can't. We can't… please!" she pleaded desperately, audibly on the brink of tears.

She heard Serana exhale awkwardly, and a within a moment she felt her wrapping something around her shoulders.

"Just… just hold still," the older Vampire ordered. "I'm not exactly used to having to pin this broach on anyone else…"

"There," she finished, seeming to step back from Aelfwynn. "Well… it's a little long for you – but in this case I suppose that's a good thing, actually. It's my cloak – it'll protect you from the worst of the sun. It's a lot more resilient than what you're wearing."

"W-what about you?" Aelfwynn asked tremulously, reaching out to wrap the cloak around her more fully.

"I'm not exactly like you," Serana clarified haughtily. "The sun isn't exactly good for my skin – but I've still got my hood. I'll live."

Serana reached out to take her hand. "And so will you. Just hold onto me."

* * *

Aelfwynn had no idea how long they'd been on the move.

For various lengths of time she just had to endure the burning of the sun's wrath, feeling as though it were gradually boiling her skin despite the protection of Serana's cloak. Only then would there be some respite, as Serana managed to find some sheltering rock face as they walked, allowing her vampiric form to slowly regenerate the worst of the burns in the shade before facing the sun once again.

Aelfwynn kept asking for Serana to describe the terrain around them, trying to offset the claustrophobic blindness she was forced to endure. Her companion assured her she wasn't missing much. The fields of snow apparently blanketed the hold in all directions, disturbed only by the mountains which periodically burst out into the sky, and the chasm into which they had first collapsed into fleeing from the dragon's wrath. Aelfwynn herself could tell that they were gradually heading downhill, descending presumably northwards into the basin of Winterhold.

All the while Aelfwynn clutched Serana's hand tightly, in this moment her only lifeline in the world. It was when she focused on that that Aelfwynn had a particular realisation. It was no secret that she and Serana weren't exactly on the best of terms most of the time. If anything, their association had been an alliance of convenience, forced by necessity. Neither of them had anyone they could rely on to stop Harkon. Yet in this moment, Serana's hand in her own – she realised that despite her best efforts, despite her assurances that Serana was still, ultimately the enemy; she had come to trust her. Without reservation without doubt as they wandered through the hellish light of day. Thinking back, Aelfwynn could identify no one single moment when that had happened. Perhaps it had subtlety crept up on her during their travels, one perilous encounter after another.

An animalistic screech swiftly ripped through her train of thought.

"Serana?" Aelfwynn asked demandingly. "What is it? What's out there?"

She heard the small sound of a weapon being drawn.

"I have to let go of you for a moment," Serana told her, and in response Aelfwynn's eyes widened in fear. "Just stay put and don't panic. Don't make a sound."

Aelfwynn froze. Several instincts were in conflict with one another – the terror of sunlight and the defiance of the cornered vampire. She tried to push them from her mind, assert her own rational will over the desires of the beast. She tried to focus on her other senses than just sight, attempting to craft an image of her surroundings – and whatever it was that had roared only moments before. She began to whisper a silent prayer to Mara in her mind, begging it not to be the dragon.

For the first few moments, Aelfwynn thought she could keep track of the sounds of Serana's footfalls, pick up her subtle scent on the air – but behind the hood she was muffled to the world as well as blind, and within a few more seconds there was nothing. Occasionally she thought she could hear the subtle crackle of snow being crushed, a snort or grunt on the air, but she couldn't be sure from where they had come.

Another deep, bestial cry.

Aelfwynn was more certain this time. It was neither the gale-like roar of a dragon, nor quite the harsh bark of trollkind. Oddly enough, it sounded vaguely like the mountain lions from Cyrodiil, the kind Aelfwynn had once glimpsed in cages as part of a public exhibit back on the bustling streets of Daggerfall. But in Skyrim, she was fairly certain there was only one creature that could sound so similar. The Sabre Cat.

Aelfwynn focused her concentration on staying perfectly still. Certainly, it wouldn't hide her from the great cat's eyes – but it would certainly give her more of a chance to predict where its attack would come from than if she were merely groping around blindly in the snow. Moreover, she could be standing on the edge of a precipice for all she knew – though she hoped Serana wouldn't have thought to leave her in such a precarious position. She hoped. Aelfwynn wasn't sure she could so much as cast an effective ward without being able to see what she was doing, let alone whilst feeling the effects of direct sunlight less than half an inch from her bare skin.

She heard a voice cry out in pain, and the ugly sounds of a struggle. Aelfwynn thought she could make out the sound of animal claws on skin and leather – or was it the sound of a dagger tearing flesh?

For a moment time didn't seem to pass, and then Aelfwynn suddenly found herself knocked into the snow, the sharp, agonising scrape of claws ripping across her back. Aelfwynn struck out with all her strength in response, feeling the vast weight of the creature on the end of her hand as she made contact.

The beast roared again, but just as Aelfwynn braced herself for another strike, she heard a vast thump beside her, the snow beneath her shifting slightly in response.

"Serana?!" Aelfwynn called out anxiously, pushing herself to her feet, grimacing at the pain of her fresh wounds. She was grateful at least that Serana's cloak still felt intact enough to wrap around the jagged tears in her robe.

"Move!" She heard a voice demand, as a vicelike grip seized Aelfwynn by the wrist.

Aelfwynn was startled by the sound – the lilt of the voice was recognisably Serana, yet it sounded far more harsh, guttural than she had ever sounded before – as if she had torn her own voice out through screaming. The grip too felt wrong, hard and sharp, and Serana's hand shouldn't have been able to enclose Aelfwynn's wrist quite so easily.

Her companion seemed to set a violent new pace, practically sprinting through the snow drifts. Once or twice she would pull Aelfwynn over altogether, who would have to quickly scramble to her feet before the punishing new pace resumed. The helplessness of her situation combined with the irritation of Serana's impatience served to only darken her mood further, and remind her of the slowly building thirst climbing at the back of her throat.

Then they stopped. Aelfwynn felt the vice-like grip around her wrist release.

"What's wrong?" Aelfwynn asked a little coldly, flexing her gloved hand.

Serana said nothing, though Aelfwynn thought she could make out the whisper of air escaping from beneath clenched fangs, alongside a gruesomely familiar sound. The sound of bones snapping into place, and of raw flesh shifting and sorting itself anew. Aelfwynn's rose eyes widened as she recognised precisely where she had first heard the sound.

Within half a minute or so, Serana had taken her hand once again, yet Aelfwynn gripped it a little less tightly than before.

* * *

 _My life is dreary. Where is my prince come to rescue me? Where is my bold Nord warrior to sweep me off my feet?_

 _I met a man today when picking nightflowers. He is exciting and exotic. We kissed in the moonlight. It was so romantic. I'm going to see him again tonight._

 _Now I understand the true colours of the night. Movarth has shown me the true black of night and the true red of blood. He has promised me a feast of blood if I do his bidding in Morthal._

 _Hroggar was easy to seduce. Movarth said I should find a protector first, someone to watch over my coffin during the day. Hroggar is perfect._

 _Laelette came to visit me tonight. She slaked my thirst. I've hidden her away to let her rise as my handmaiden. I've spread the rumour in town that she left to join the war. Fools._

 _Movarth has confided his grand plan to me. I am to seduce the guardsman one at a time and make them my slaves. Then he and the others from the coven can descend upon Morthal and take the entire town. We won't kill them. They will become cattle for our thirst. An endless supply of blood and an entire town to protect us from the cursed sun._

 _Hroggar's family is becoming inconvenient. I've told Laelette to kill them all, but make it look like an accident. Hroggar must be seen as innocent if he is going to be my protector._

 _That little fool! Laelette burned Hroggar's family alive. I asked for an accident and she gave me a scandal. To make matters worse, she tried to turn his little girl, Helgi. Except Laelette couldn't even get that right. She killed the child and left the body to burn._

 _Something is wrong with Laelette. She keeps talking about Helgi. I think her mind has snapped. She seems to think that the child can still be brought back to be her companion._

 _There is a stranger in town, looking into the fire. I'll have to be careful._

Idgrod the Younger's hands were shaking with anger as she finished reading the final lines aloud, though as she looked up from the yellowed pages her mother's face remained impassive, stoic as ever. She had not turned to look at Idgrod as she had spoken, nor did she really seem to be watching the wanderer that stood before her. His eyes now locked with hers, as if to acknowledge that his words to her the previous day had been proven right. Though he seemed to take no pleasure in the victory. Ever since Idgrod had seen Jon, those eyes seemed to have been filled with a certain weariness, a burden not even a friendly smile could mask entirely.

"So it's true…" Her mother acknowledged finally, reeling in her mile-long gaze, casting her eyes towards Jon. "Traitor as she was – I pity her. Morthal owes you a debt."

The Jarl straightened her posture from her reclined position towards the back of her ornately carved throne, leaning forwards intently.

"But Morthal is still in danger. I would ask one last favour of you Battle-Born. The journal mentions 'Movarth', a master vampire I thought was destroyed a century ago… no matter. I'll send for some able-bodied warriors to gather together to clean out Movarth's lair. An hour from now they'll be waiting outside. Waiting for you to lead them."

"Jarl Idgrod, don't get me wrong – I'll do what I can. But I'm no leader." Jon admitted uncomfortably.

"No-one is," Idgrod informed him curtly. "Until fate forces that responsibility upon you. One hour, Battle-Born. With Alva destroyed, I dare not wait until nightfall."

When Jon finally emerged once again from Highmoon Hall, a small mob had gathered around the foot of the steps. The first thing that surprised him was that every one of them was a citizen – not a single uniformed guard among them. Could Idgrod not even spare one good man or woman? Amongst the crowd he could make out Thonnir, who appeared to have armoured himself in slightly tarnished iron, as well as the orc so-called bard from Jonna's inn. Their frenetic, animated whispers faded as Jon appeared atop the stairs, the sudden silence emphasising the creak of his heavy boots on wood as he descended to their level.

Jon turned to look at them each in turn, drinking in their faces, their anger; measuring their resolve. The Jarl was effectively placing their lives in his hands, and so it was up to him to make best their chances for survival.

"Your weapons," he began, hoping his voice didn't betray his nerves. "Show me."

The crowd mumbled to one another, flashing each other uncertain glances before sorting themselves into a single line, drawing their weapons and holding them out for inspection. As Jon walked along, he noted the far majority of the weapons were forged from iron – simple but strong, much like his own first sword.

"They do you credit," Jon approved, placing his hand on the hilt of his own blade. "You've clearly given them the respect any Nord should. But when fighting vampires," he noticed the eyes of the crowd widen as he said the word aloud, "you will want any advantage you can get."

Jon walked back along the line a few paces, standing eye to eye with his only friend in the crowd. "Thonnir," he greeted him gravely. "Do you know if your smith has any silvered weapons in store?"

The look Thonnir gave him was equally solemn. "I'm sorry Jon, but we have no blacksmith here in Morthal. Our weapons tend to come across the marshes, from Solitude."

Jon sighed. "No matter." He said, turning away before mounting two of the Jarl's steps once again.

"Alright…" Jon called for their attention, pushing his shoulders back as he spoke. "Most of you do not know me. I confess, I have not been here long enough to know many of you. But all you need to know is; my name is Jon. I have the trust of your Jarl Idgrod. And I am a vampire hunter."

They looked impressed by that. This was what the crowd needed to see. Not the man, the bard, the ex-lover and the family exile – but the leader Jarl Idgrod had ordered him to be. He could not allow the doubts which had led him to failure time and time again pass on to the men and women in front of him. He pictured in his mind all of the other leaders he had seen in his life; Jarl Balgruuf addressing his citizens, Isran calling the men to order, and even a few memories of his father.

"To the north of here is a cave. I cannot say for sure exactly what awaits us inside – but I can say for sure that within its chambers lies a host of vampires, who sought to enslave each and every one of you. They may have struck tonight. Perhaps tomorrow. But we cannot afford to give them that chance."

Jon let his words sink in for a few moments before he continued.

"I will not begrudge any of you who want to walk away. I won't lie, say we don't need every man and woman here. But I can see in your eyes it was the anger of betrayal that brought you out here. Think a while – be sure you have the steel in your heart to see this through to the end. There is no shame in admitting otherwise. A vampire can use any fears, any weakness to turn the tide of a battle. Those of you that still want to march to… to Movarth's Lair, meet me on the northern bridge within the hour. Bring armour, bring potions, bandages and torches. This fight will not be easy. But by Talos – we can see it through."

With that, many of the crowd nodded or grumbled in approval, before dispersing. Thonnir alone waited, and Jon swiftly descended the steps once more to join him.

"I… I'm so sorry Thonnir. About Laelette. I failed you my friend. Alva played me like a lute and I never saw it."

" _We_ failed," Thonnir amended after a moment. "Failed my boy and failed Laelette. But I will have vengeance!"

There was green fire in his eyes as he spoke, and Jon knew in that moment he would it see it through.

They continued to speak as they walked towards the bridge. Jon had left his rucksack behind at the Jarl's hall, and he could see his companion eyeing the strange weapon the bard had fixed across his back.

"It's a crossbow," Jon answered the unspoken question. "Fires a smaller projectile than a bow. Quicker to fire but slower to load – and has quite a kick to it besides."

Thonnir nodded. "A weapon used by your Dawnguard friends eh?"

"They do at that," Jon responded. "There are few things that will stop a vampire charging at you in the heat of battle. A crossbow is one of them."

"A shame there's only the one, then."

A thoughtful look crossed Jon's face, before reaching to lift the weapon from his back, placing it in Thonnir's hands.

"Had much experience as a marksman, Thonnir?"

"I'm not a bad shot…" Thonnir admitted modestly, holding the weapon a little awkwardly. "But that was with my mother's hunting bow, not… this."

Jon shrugged. "You'll find if you've mastered one, you'll quickly find your feet with the other. Look down the centre of the weapon – it's already loaded. Fire a test shot, get used to how the weapon feels."

Thonnir looked around. "What should I aim at, kinsman?"

Jon gave him a wry half-smile. "Well I don't think Jonna would appreciate us putting a dent in her sign, however tempting the target might be. Take that tree over there," he suggested, pointing to a spindly pine about a hundred paces from where they were standing.

Thonnir adjusted his line of sight for a few moments, widening his stance slightly at the same time.

There was a crisp "thwack" as the weapon fired, and a moment later Thonnir's arms felt the subtle recoil pushing them backwards.

The two men began the walk towards the tree, and Jon took the opportunity to ask the question which had perplexed him since he had taken a single step out of High moon Hall.

"I couldn't help but notice there weren't any guards waiting with the rest of you," Jon said, scratching absently at the flaxen beard that had continued to grow since leaving Whiterun. "I assume the Jarl will send a few of them will join us at the cave?"

Thonnir creased his brow for a moment. "I'm not sure Jon. Even with the war on, Morthal has never recruited many guardsmen – and those we do have are needed to guard the town. Perhaps the Jarl intends to hold them back in case…"

"In case we fail."

"Aye. They'd be the last line of defence."

Jon sighed. He could understand the Jarl's reasoning – even if he thought she was mistaken. But of all the things he had learned since coming to Morthal, it was that Jarl Idgrod Ravenscrone knew her own mind – and small chance he had at changing it.

"I don't believe it," Thonnir uttered as they reached the tree, finding the steel bolt protruding neatly from the trunk.

"A little off centre," Jon jokingly criticised, rapping a knuckle against the bark, watching Thonnir's astonishment become a frown for a moment before releasing him with a smile.

"It was a fine shot my friend," Jon conceded. "Another advantage the crossbow has over its cousin is accuracy. When firing a bow, your aim depends entirely on your posture for the entire shot. With a crossbow, you just have to point, and fire. The mechanism there takes care of the rest."

"Amazing," Thonnir replied, a little awe in his voice.

"Sorine does work wonders…" Jon informed him. "Good enough for me. You'll carry the crossbow into the cave – you'll be watching my back, so don't let me down."

Thonnir looked uncertain. "You're sure about this Jon?"

"I'm certainly not giving you my sword…" he jested, pulling the top of the blade a few inches from the scabbard. "If it's the only silver blade we have, I'd be a fool not to use it."

After finally prying the bolt from the wood, Jon and Thonnir made their way back to the bridge, leaning against the stone barrier. A few minutes passed by where neither man said a word, merely processing what lay ahead, trying to give their dread a tangible form to combat.

Jon couldn't believe his eyes when he saw Idgrod the Younger walking up to them, clad in brown leather armour, a faded purple cloak and a longbow drawn across her back. At her hip, he spotted a small, silver scabbard.

"Lady Idgrod?" He asked, his voice betraying his uncomfortable surprise at her arrival.

"You need every man and woman you can get, isn't that what you said?"

"You were listening then…" Jon acknowledged, raising an eyebrow.

"From the other side of the door," Idgrod admitted shamelessly.

"You're not going."

His stark words clearly took Idgrod by surprise, in great contrast to the overly formal, polite Jon she had got to know.

"Excuse me?" She asked, half in disbelief.

Jon closed his eyes regretfully. "I apologise Lady Idgrod – but you have no business in the vampires' lair, no more than the Jarl herself."

There was a steel in Idgrod's penetrating dark eyes. "As we've talked about before… this isn't Whiterun Jon. We do things differently here. My family is at risk as much as anyone else, and I have to do what I can. More than that I… I just know that I should be there."

Her eyes seemed to stretch out into the distance as she spoke, and Jon knew she was talking about the 'gift'. Thonnir had gradually begun to move away from the pair, leaving the two to the heated intensity of their private argument.

"I thought you said you would show me the path, but it was mine to walk?" Jon reminded her, hearkening back to their first conversation.

"It's not just your path anymore Jon," she countered sincerely, no mirth in her words.

"It's not the path of a future Jarl to put herself in mortal danger!" Jon argued, his voice rising whilst hers remained calm, considered.

"That's an opinion, not a certainty."

"This is no time to be stubborn!" He almost shouted, before the small knowing smile on Idgrod's face triggered his own self-awareness.

He shook his head slowly, answering her smile. "I should know better by now, better than to argue with a strong Nord woman when she's made up her mind."

Idgrod scrutinised him carefully for a few moments, her eyes seeming to vanish into the distance once again.

"You loved her very much, didn't you?"

Any chance of a response froze on Jon's lips. Idgrod's eyes opened wide, as if only after the fact she realised what she had said.

Her mother's gift again. Jon tried to push the unease her sudden, piercing insights created in him to one side. He couldn't let it distract him from what was to come.

"Another life," Jon answered wistfully. "One where the world ended in sight of Whiterun's walls."

* * *

It could have been worse.

The majority of those who had met Jon outside the Jarl's hall had come to the bridge before a full hour had passed – most of them clad in some sort of armour or at least some fairly resilient appearing clothing.

Whilst he was still avidly convinced she shouldn't be here – Jon was grateful to have Idgrod standing at his side at they gathered. Even if in this short time he had borrowed the people of Morthal's respect, they clearly held Idgrod the Younger in nearly as high regard as her mother.

Whilst he had their attention however, Jon took the opportunity to prepare the crowd for what was to come.

"When it comes to fighting vampires, there is some counsel you should keep about you. Firstly, whatever you may have heard, they cannot make you into one of them just by scratching – or even biting. Keep that in mind if you get up close to one."

Jon drew his blade. "This is a silver weapon – in an ideal world, each of you would carry one. It burns vampires as if one of you were cut by a blade fresh from the forge. If I fall… it is too valuable to leave behind. One of you will have to wield it."

He sheathed the weapon, electing instead to hold up a torch. "Fire is your friend kinsmen. Any vampire exposed to so much as a spark will burst into flame like parched kindling. If you see one of them dive at you, wave the torch in front – perhaps smite them as if you were holding a shield."

Jon passed the torch to Thonnir, before looking down on the assembly solemnly.

"Make no mistake," He said, moving his eyes through the crowd. "A vampire is faster, stronger and more vicious than anyone here. If you see an opening – take it, even it wears the face of someone you once new." As he spoke, Jon aimed a guilty glance at Thonnir. "Take no chances when it comes to killing one. And that is no easy matter. A vampire feels pain, but is made far less vulnerable by it. Your best bet is to go for the head. A stab to the heart has been known to bring them down – but only if the wound bleeds enough. That's the secret. A vampire's power lies in its blood, and the more it loses, the weaker it becomes. But never forget – your greatest weapon will always be your courage."

As Jon lead the mob north, his thoughts couldn't help but wander towards the future. How would the bards tell the story of what was about to unfold here? A great victory over the forces of evil? A heroic last stand against an overwhelming tide? Or a foolish mistake led by a fool?

Jon had done his best to prepare the townsfolk for what lay ahead; but whether or not he was a fool, he wasn't enough of one to believe they were ready. On arriving of Fort Dawnguard, Jon had taken days of intensive training under Isran before the domineering Redguard was satisfied to send Jon on the most cursory of missions. He could almost hear Isran's voice in his mind as the town gave way to the marshes:

 _There's nothing worse than taking green boys into battle. Anyone who isn't prepared, is just in the way – or worse._

The directions Alva had been too careless – or overconfident – to fail to note in her journal were easy enough to follow. Jon and those under his command marched through bog and bracken, across shallow straits of water and through lingering banks of mist which sluggishly patrolled the marsh.

In the end, the cave was far too close to the town for comfort. It's sloping entrance was hiding in the shadow of an enormous boulder, hanging ominously above the subterranean descent, as if it could fall and bury the passages below at any moment. From the direction of Morthal, the maw was mostly hidden from sight by the moss which covered the opposite side of the uneven surface of the rock face, as well as the spindly trees which dotted the area. The indifferent mists which plagued the marshes presumably also helped to keep this place concealed from the word at large.

From this side however; it was impossible to miss. Two tumbling cairns wearily marked the spot, and behind them further still two unlit braziers emphasised the point. And there was something about the blackness which lay beyond, something which seemed to unnerve every one of the townsfolk behind Jon as they approached, their footsteps getting ever shorter, ever slower – and less and less certain.

Jon could feel what had so rattled them. Staring into the mouth of that cave was like gazing into the wretched abyss. Regular darkness was a childish fear, Jon knew – but just looking at this black nothingness physically made his hair stand on end. His ears could hear nothing as the whispers of the folk at his back fell away, yet it still seemed as if the cave was screaming silently. The darkness no longer seemed to his eye to be the mere absence of light, to the contrary it seemed as palpable as mist, as if it had enclosed the light, swallowed and devoured it ruthlessly.

In his habitual manner, Jon lifted his right gauntlet to his brow, narrowing his eyes as he tried to force himself to return his mind to rationality – to force the darkness of animal terror from his mind. His training helped. Jon could focus his thoughts on his experience, his mentors, play their lessons through in his mind and apply it to the situation before him. His two companions lingering at his side helped him draw the necessary strength.

From the slightly strained calm on her face, Jon could tell that Idgrod was feeling the same dread, though she was not letting it dominate her body language. Thonnir didn't seem affected at all, his visage instead filled with the rage at the travesties inflicted on his wife.

 _A man's passions_ , Jon thought to himself. _Is there anything in this world more powerful?_

The task before him made that question seemed far less philosophical than he might have liked.

Taking a deep breath, Jon struck his torch alight, walking over to the nearest brazier. Without hesitation, he plunged the flame into the mass of shrivelled kindling within, allowing it to smoulder into life before crossing to the other and doing the same. His work seemed to have the desired affect, as the darkness reluctantly began to roll backwards and down into the revealed tunnel beneath.

Standing between the newly lit beacons, Jon turned to face his gathering of conscripts. He thought he could see that initial silencing bout of dread begin to lax across their faces, their grips tighten slightly on their uneven mixture of weapons. In response, Jon drew his silver blade with the crisp ring of sharpened metal, echoing slightly into the cave behind him.

"This is it," Jon began sharply. "Keep in mind what I've told you – watch you shield-brother's back, and above all remember all of those who depend on our…"

Jon's voice fell away. Out of nowhere, a sudden, frigid wind emerged from behind him. In a single, vicious gust – Jon's torch was plunged into darkness, in the same breath slaughtering the glow of their braziers. Then the mists, which mere moments ago had appeared docile and distant, seemed to rise up all around them, blinding them all to the world beyond.

For several moments there was silence, broken only by the sound of quickening breaths, and the nervous shuffling of feet. Jon's own tongue had failed him – backing a few steps from the cave's mouth as his mind feared the worst.

"There… there's something out there – in the mist!" An elder Nord with fearful blue eyes called out, pointing frenetically towards the North.

"I see it too!" Another woman agreed, pointing in the same direction.

"They're all around us!"

Jon quickly strode over to grab the first man who had shouted by the arm. "There's nothing there kinsman – it's an illusion, a trick! A lie made to frighten us and drive us apart – because every creature in there knows that together we're a far greater threat!"

But the flood of panic could not be staunched. Already figures from the crowd were dissolving into the thickening mists, which merely hastened the urge of those who remained to flee. Even those who Jon would have wagered would fight on to the end – amongst them the burly Nord in thick iron armour and the finely dressed Orc bard moved to hastily stride back in the direction of town.

Jon watched in horror as the gathering shattered into the mists, leaving only himself, Thonnir and Idgrod remaining. In a single, short performance – the vampires had undone everything he had worked to build.

"What now?" Idgrod asked, uncharacteristic uncertainty in her voice.

Jon turned back to the cave entrance, and began to stare once more into the darkness.


End file.
